It Just Is
by chibitalex
Summary: Arthur Kirkland, a famous writer that goes by the name of Janice Mayflower, did not enjoy the company of others. Hopefully, his new American next-door tenant can change that... USUK. M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

_'As usual, Janice Mayflower has bestowed us with yet another thrilling tale in the Thorns saga._

_It has been 2 long years since the first part of our beloved romance story has begun, and 2 books. Ms. Mayflower has yet again astounded us with her writing pace. Since the start, Ms. Mayflower has shown off her tremendous amounts of skill with an amazing plot, and two likeable main characters. In this installment, Katia and James travel through the seals of time to obtain the second to last rose. A new couple is also introduced in this book, Alessa and Joshua. Though they all are very strong characters, and fit very nicely into this saga, Ms. Mayflower seems to have forgotten that Thorns is a tale of lost love and romance. Katia and James have next to no scenes hinting of their feelings for each other, nor do Alessa and Joshua. It's almost as if she's avoiding the subject in itself. Though, aside from this, the saga is certainly not to be ignored. I highly recommend this for any young adult sci-fi fanatics. In conclusion, I have no doubts that this will make it to the top of the best sellers list, which it greatly deserves. It's exactly the kind of series to make you want more. Rumor has it, the next book will be the last._

_We can only hope Ms. Mayflower ties up all loose ends._

_-Claudia Ditonno, New York Times.'_

'Janice Mayflower' scanned the review quite quickly, giving himself a small smile. And a best seller it _was. _It hadn't even been 24 hours, and according to some reports, it was one of the top ten in the New York area. Well, it wasn't like he hadn't worked hard. That one took him quite some time.

The room smelled heavily of coffee and baked goods, with the spices practically leaking from the containers on the shelves. Some soft music was playing in the background, soothing and relaxing. Just as you'd expect from such an establishment. A young woman was sitting near the window, her blonde hair pulled into a neat ponytail. Her hand flickered back and forth on her sketch pad, before taking a break to sip some of her tea. A male intern was moving his sponge around on the dark counter top diligently, while staring off into space.

_The Roost _was somewhat of an undiscovered gem, or an untapped oil resource. A small shop hidden between the hustle and bustle of New York City streets, the small coffee shop went unnoticed.

But not to Arthur Kirkland. To him, the little place was the perfect hideaway for him. And besides that, it was also the perfect hideaway for one 'Janice Mayflower'. His writing alias, his cover up, his pen name. What ever you'd wish to call it.

Pen names aside, Arthur was a very healthy twenty-five year old man. At least, if you asked him, that's how he would likely respond. In reality, Arthur Kirkland was an insomniac who had a knack for writing and a terrible temper. He had short, choppy blonde hair and rather emerald eyes. That wouldn't even cover his eyebrows, whom one person claimed had eaten Tokyo. Lean, but with a decent amount of muscle, he was still rather weak and shorter than the average male. Though, girls seemed to swoon at his English-_ Not British- _accent.

And on top of all of that, he was a rather distinguished author under the name of Janice Mayflower. _Thorns_, by far, had been his greatest success yet, filling up the papers and trending topics with raves of his name, his work. He had to admit, it was quite enthralling to see his (pen) name in the news, time and time again.

Traditionally, pen names were used to protect the identity of the author. And it was true in this case as well. In American society, sadly, many people would look and judge a young man who wrote nothing but sappy romance stories for a living. And thus, Janice Mayflower was born.

Arthur hummed softly and looked up at the sky. Today was colder than usual. A thick blanket of clouds covered the sky with a menacing glare. He examined it for a moment before shivering. It was going to snow again today, wasn't it?

"Oh! Arthur!" A voice rang from behind him. As he turned, a woman became increasingly apparent as she bounded towards him, her dark pigtails moving with her. Eventually, as she caught up her dark brown eyes became noticeable.

Arthur grimaced. Oh, look. His overly perky landlord.

"Hello Chilly day, right?" She smiled.

"Hm... Hello, Angelique. Pleasant day, yes?"

With a sigh, she gave him a soft glare. He had always been like this, even in college. 'Mr. Grumpypants', was that his nickname? Oh, well.

"You really have to stop being so formal. It freaks people out. But seriously," She frowned. He simply rolled her eyes as she pulled out a pink slip of paper. "According to this, there are 36 tenants in our building. Not any more."

She said, grinning as she ripped apart the slip. Arthur blinked as he did a double check. Was he rude to any of the neighbors? Well... yes, but not excessively. Was he loud? No. Was he not paying rent? No...

"You're getting a new neighbor. Right next to you. So... try and be kind to him, okay?" She smiled.

Arthur took off after her as she jogged away.

"Hey! Get back here!" He huffed. His landlord was such a downright idiot at times. Lord knows how she managed to get through high school.

As he stopped in front of his complex, a shock wave of nerves ran through him. He had some terrible neighbors in the past, _noisy _ones. And this was quite a popular spot for young people, fresh out of college.

Even as a gentleman, gentlemen had every right to be nervous. Of course. Especially if there was a possible future of moving out. He stepped inside the elevator hesitantly. There was that college kid last year, he was terribly noisy. And there was that one girl who brought home a different man every night...

He had some bad experiences with neighbors. And he did _not _want another one.

As he walked out the door of the elevator his fears dissolved as quickly as they appeared, with his scalding tea spilling over him as he walked directly into another person.

"Augh! Watch where you're going, you-" The words disappeared as he looked up at him. Was this his neighbor? A slightly disheveled sunny blonde, blue eyes and glasses met him, as he quickly scurried to pick the now empty cup off the ground.

"Oh! Uh, geez... aha... sorry about that! I was just about to head out, so I could buy another one for you, if you want... but! First things first!" The man in front of him grinned and stuck out his hand. "Nice to meet you! I'm Alfred, and I guess you're my neighbor!"

* * *

><p><strong>Yeah, it's suicide to have two stories at once, but... I had to write this. Next chapter up soon. Enjoy!<strong>

**-chibitalex**


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm Alfred, and I guess you're my neighbor!" The man in front of him said with a sideways grin.

Arthur examined him thoroughly before hesitantly taking his outstretched hand and shaking it once. Well, he didn't seem too bad... however, looks could be deceiving, and Arthur certainly knew this.

"Arthur Kirkland. A pleasure," He nodded curtly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go change out of my now soiled shirt..." He mumbled, turning to his door.

"Oh, wait!" With a sigh, Arthur turned around to face him.

"Yes?"

"Change real quick, and I'll get you another... uh..."

"Tea."

Alfred grimaced. "Tea, seriously? Gross. But yeah, I'll buy you one, if you want."

Ignoring his crude comment about tea, he tossed another nod in his general direction. "Alright. Wait for me out here, I'll be back in a moment. You certainly owe me one, so I suppose it's the least you could do." Arthur said gruffly, slamming the door in the other's face, leaving him in the hall.

"Geez..." Alfred muttered. "And people think _I'm _rude..."

A soft purr came from his feet as an overly fluffy cat rubbed against his leg. He smiled.

"Hey, Hero. Head on inside, okay? I'll be back later."

With a strong meow, Hero trampled back into the small room. Alfred leaned against the wall and grinned. He seriously had the cutest cat ever. Hero was pretty much a big furball of love and cuddles. And hunger. But still, he must take after his owner, right?

Alfred sighed. Really, how long could it take to change a shirt?

_**XxXxXx**_

Inside his apartment, Arthur was taking his sweet time. The man outside... Alfred, was it? Certainly seemed to be the stereotypical, uncultured American slob. Just like his other past five neighbors. The lad did seem to have a slight speck of decency in him, however. At least he had the manners to purchase him a new beverage after destroying his.

As he tossed his damp shirt onto the bed, a self dignified cat made its way onto the bed, resting upon the pillow. Arthur sighed rather heavily.

"Crumpets, off the bed. You don't want me to bring out the spray bottle, do you?" In all honesty, the spray bottle was almost untouched. Crumpets was a great cat. He had manners, knew better than to chase dogs, and cleaned up after himself.

Crumpets gave the man an unimpressed look before hopping off the bed and into the main room, searching for a spot where the sun poked through the clouds to lie in.

Back in the bedroom, Arthur quickly buttoned up his white shirt and threw on his coat. Alfred could afford to wait a few minutes, he thought vaguely as he fixed the pillows on his bed and tossed the comforter over the frame. Heading out the door, he scratched Crumpets' head and smiled softly.

"I'll be back home soon, alright? Don't scratch the cushions. Your food is next to the counter."

As he stepped out the door, he had to admit, seeing Alfred waiting was a bit of a shock. The man didn't seem particularly patient, after all.

The man looked up at him and grinned. "Hey. Didn't know it took fifteen minutes to change your shirt. What'd you do, vacuum the tea out of it?"

A quick silence came over Arthur as he glared. "If you're going to be a rude prick, I'll just leave, then."

"Nope! That was a just a joke. Take it, okay?" He smiled, standing up. "Anyway... I just got a job at this coffee shop, so let's go there?"

"You mean so that you can use your employee discount?" Arthur scoffed.

"Exactly."

An awkward silence overtook them as they rode down the elevator, Alfred rocking on his feet, Arthur simply standing. Out of simple curiosity, he looked over at the man rocking next to him, smile set on his face. Well... he was... rather attractive, to put it bluntly. Great. Just another thing to worry about, sex noises in the middle of the night, girlfriends thumping against the wall from whatever new kink they decided to test out...

"Are you single?" Arthur blurted out rather suddenly, effectively breaking the silence.

"Why, you want a piece of this?" Alfred snickered. Well, he seemed to pick up on the glare Arthur was giving him, at least, continuing after a few moments of silent laughter. "Yeah. I am. I had this girlfriend in my senior year of college, but she just wanted sex... so I broke up with her," He shrugged.

"Hm," Arthur said, looking over at him. "I didn't know you had morals."

Alfred did a double take before sighing.

"You don't have many friends, do you?"

To be perfectly honest, perhaps Arthur should have spared at least a little bit of his own dignity and lied to him, but what could he say, really? No one was coming to mind. Not his (annoying) landlord, not his publisher, not his neighbors... no one. There was that French writer down the road, but considering how often the two fought, it could hardly be considered a friendship. More like a healthy rivalry.

In his twenty-five years of life, Arthur didn't have anyone to hold onto. Not one person to depend on, not one person he would actually trust... aside from Crumpets, that is.

Then again, Crumpets was really the only one he _could _trust. Who needed humans? Not him, no, certainly not.

"I have Crumpets," He muttered into his scarf, staring at the linoleum floor as they stepped out of the elevator. Alfred quickly stifled a chuckle and smiled as he opened the glass door for him.

"Weird, I figured you'd get all pissy at me for saying that. But alright," The two walked outside, Alfred pausing in his speech to nod curtly at the doorman. "Who's Crumpets? Your cat or something?"

Arthur's upper lip stiffened as he gave a curt, firm nod.

"Oh, cool!" Alfred said, giving a nod of approval. "Then we can have kitty play dates! I have a cat named Hero. He's big and fluffy." The other scoffed and tossed his hand.

"Play dates? Hardly. Crumpets is a refined cat. If anything, they could possibly have feline tea parties, but that's only if I find you to be acceptable," He said, looking over and meeting the ever-lasting grin of Alfred's. Jesus, did that boy ever feel sadness, or...

His train of thought was cut off by a hearty laugh.

"Kitty tea parties?" A Giggle. "Yeah, okay. See, Hero doesn't roll like that. He eats cool food, like burgers and soda," Alfred stated matter-of-factly.

"Sounds disgusting, unhealthy, and uncultured," Arthur said, speeding up his pace to match his companion's.

Alfred hummed, his frown slowly turning into a smirk. "If you're gonna call burgers and soda uncultured for an American cat, yet you only have your cat eat tea and scones, we're in the same boat."

"..."

For an American slob, he certainly had a good point there.

"Well... hm. I hope you don't actually feed your cat hamburgers. You realize how bad that is for them, correct? And besides, grease is absolutely disgusting," He said quickly, walking ahead of the other.

At this, Alfred merely shrugged. "Yeah, well, I hope you don't feed your cat tea and scones. He might suffer from extreme awesome deficiency. Or at least poisoning, cause I mean, that's gross," He stuck out his tongue in disgust. "Leaf water."

Arthur tossed him another glare and stared at his feet. "You're just too much of an idiot to understand the refined taste that is tea. You're probably one of those people who needs coffee to wake up."

"Yeah, actually, I am. Now here, I just got a job at this place called 'The Roost'. It's cool. There's coffee and donuts for me, and... uh, hot tree liquid for you."

Oh. Now he had no where to escape to when this man would start bothering him.

Great.

Alfred opened the door for him, letting Arthur inside first. As they entered, the heat immediately hit them, and they both sighed with content. Outside was rather cold, after all.

"You go grab that table over there, I got this. Tea, right? What brew?" He asked as he pulled out his wallet.

"Oh, uh..." Arthur stood for a moment and read through the list. So many different blends, brews! There had to be at least 14 on that list, just waiting for him to consume them. However, today was feeling like a simple day. "Earl Grey, if you will," He nodded, and went over to the table perched next to a large window.

Outside, what had started as a cold day had quickly spun into a light snowfall, the fresh powder quickly covering the pavement and cement outside. With how fast it was coming down, he was nearly 100% sure that the students wouldn't have any class tomorrow.

As quickly as the snow came down, it was approximately the same time as his boredom growing on the scene. He turned his head and stared at the man standing at the register, ordering who knows what. He examined Alfred's jacket a bit closer. What was that, an American Air Force bomber jacket? A large fifty was printed on the back in faded white paint, planes sewn into the side of his sleeves. What an odd choice of attire for someone his age. Most twenty year olds were dressed completely in leather, piercings everywhere... and if not that, a different sports jersey everyday. The females were even worse. For god's sake, it was _December! _You do not need to bare your mid-riff in _December!_

Arthur continued to observe the American striking up a conversation with the cashier, or his new found co-worker. To be perfectly honest, Alfred was rather annoying. An annoying, idiotic, slobby, ignorant, rude, loud, prick.

Arthur leaned back in his seat as Alfred approached with the hot liquid and a paper bag. As he set them down, he caught a glance at the window.

"Oh. Snow," Alfred noted as he handed Arthur a paper mug. "Anyway! So, stranger. Tell me a little about yourself! What do you do for a living?"

Before answering, Arthur took a sip of his tea. Delicious. "I would certainly hope that your memory isn't so faulty to forget that my name is Arthur within an a half hour. And I write for a living."

Alfred lowered the mug from his lips in question. "Just writing? You must be pretty well off, then."

"You could say that. Now, young man," Arthur said firmly as he picked off a piece of the cranberry scone Alfred had gotten him. "You tell me about yourself."

"Well, I'm twenty-four... Oh, my full name is Alfred F. Jones-"

"What does the 'F' stand for?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. Foster. Frederick. Freedom. Fuck. No one really knows. I think it's just an 'F'," His face lit up with a huge grin. "It's kind of funny, my parents wouldn't tell me either! Oh, and I have a twin. Matty."

"Is he like you?" Arthur asked with the slightest tone of disgust.

"Nah, he's quiet and loves pancakes. That's pretty much it with him. What else..." Alfred muttered, trailing off into space. "And I'm a photographer for the _New York Times._"

Arthur briefly placed his cup down. "A photographer?"

"Yeah. And if things go the way I want them to, I'll probably be training at the Fire Academy within a few years. But that's not important right now! How old are you?" He said, smoothly changing the subject to a completely unrelated topic. There must be a rule for that somewhere in his etiquette book, it's just plain rude to switch topics when someone was asking you about yourself...

"Twenty-five."

Alfred's eyes widened. "Weird. I thought you had to be at least fifty-four, with the way you dress and all."

"I pray you're joking." If he had no tea in front of him, he would have knocked that American's lights out. Seeing as he did, however, Arthur was much calmer. What could he say? Tea had that effect on him.

"Nah, you seemed pretty young. You just dress like an old man," Alfred smiled and stood up, grabbing the paper bag. "Anyway."

Dully, Arthur looked up at him as he took another sip of tea.

"Where are you going?"

"Well, my first day's tomorrow, so I figured I'd explore the scene at the offices. Sorry to run out like this, but, uh..." Alfred said as he fumbled through his pockets and pulled out a phone. "Number?"

"Hm. 376-7674."

With a beep, he smiled and headed out the door.

"See ya, Artie!"

The Englishman was momentarily annoyed by the nickname until he felt a buzz in his pocket. As he pulled out his phone, a new message immediately popped up.

_'h3y arti3. nic3 m33tin ya. we liv3 n3xt door, so ill pop by l8t3r or sumthin._

_anyway! s33 ya l8t3r, old man! ;)_

_-Alfred (THE HERO!)'_

Arthur quickly tapped out a response and sent it.

_'You type like a mentally damaged squirrel._

_-Arthur Kirkland.'_

He still stood by his point earlier. Alfred was still an annoying, idiotic, slobby, ignorant, rude, loud, prick.

But as he sat, looking at his phone, maybe just this once, he would give the man a chance.

* * *

><p><strong>Wow, guys. After I uploaded the first chapter, I came home to find 32 new emails. Not that that's a bad thing, of course! Keep doing that, it makes me happy. I love how Arthur completely ignores that <em>he <em>was the one that knocked into Alfred. On another note, you know what I hate? When Author's Notes are ridiculously long. I mean, woah there, Charles Dickens. I didn't sign on here to proof read your auto-biography. In any case, next chapter up ASAP.**

**-chibitalex**


	3. Chapter 3

_'hey, dude. are you at your apartment?' _

_Message received at 5:39 pm._

_'uh, hellooooooo? artie, you there?'_

_Message received at 5:43 pm._

_'HEY ARE YOU ALIVE OR WHAT.'_

_Message received at 5:45 pm._

_'SHOULD I BE WORRIED? SHOULD I CALL THE POLICE OR SOMETHING?'_

_Message received at 5:46 pm._

Arthur shook the snow off of his head into the kitchen sink. He felt disgusting. His boots were nearly filled with snow already. His feet felt like a tundra. Altogether... he just felt cold, wet, and slimey. With a grimace, he tugged off both of his boots and set them neatly down on the mat, before removing his equally as wet and disgusting socks.

Finally, he hung his coat up neatly on the rack and turned up the thermostat a few notches.

Down by his feet, Crumpets purred and rubbed himself against his leg. Arthur smiled and knelt down to scratch behind his ears. The little furball could be surprisingly affectionate at times.

He approached the large window and stared outside into the city. The buildings were turning into hazes of white fog, as the white fluff began to set on the ground. No one below seemed to mind. They meandered about, doing as they pleased, and walking with their hands in their pockets, facing downwards.

And this sight was why he had chosen to live in New York.

Don't get him wrong, London was lovely. Grand, even. But between the rain and his brothers, it was too much for him to handle.

His brothers... well, he was sure there was some good in them. Deep down. But it certainly wasn't obvious, and it would take a lot of time and effort to find it, something which Arthur simply did not feel like doing. After all of the teasing, ripping of his unicorn plushies, and just making his childhood hell in general, he wasn't particularly eager to forgive.

It was around the age of 13 when he saw his outlet- The shining, sparkling cityline of New York. Immediately, he applied to study abroad.

It was at the age of 14 that he was accepted.

For the next four years, he worked harder than ever, sacrificing most of his sleep. All for the sake of essays, posters, PowerPoints, and his future.

It was at 18 that he became a citizen of the United States.

It was at 18 that he was accepted on a full scholarship to Columbia.

And it was at 22 that he graduated Colombia with a major in business, and a minor in creative writing.

Who would have guessed that his minor would be his career?

At 23, he finished his first book. _Thorns_. An epic of lost love, adventure, and the innermost workings of the mind. A few months later, it was released.

And in just a week, it was a hit.

At 24 came the second tale.

And just two days ago came the third. Writing the third book had been a bit of a hassle, due to some major writers block, but he had powered through and gotten it done.

A few hours ago he met Alfred. A fact he was reminded of when he powered on his phone and saw the abundance of messages from him, worrying for his safety. He stared at the screen for a moment, then quickly tapped out a message.

_'I see you've managed to improve on that spelling of yours a bit.'_

Leaving his phone on the couch, he stepped up and turned on the kettle for a pot of tea. Opening his cupboards, he pondered which to pick out of the many loose leaf canisters. Settling on chai, he poured the hot water into a steeper and walked back over to the couch.

_'OMG YOUR NOT DEAD. :D'_

_Received at 6:03 pm._

_'im really excited for this job! ive loved photography for a long time, so this will be fuuun.'_

_Received at 6:03 pm._

_'...you still there?'_

_Received at 6:04 pm._

_'DUDE. ARE YOU DEAD AGAIN.'_

_Received at 6:05 pm._

Arthur huffed. His agitation only grew further when he saw him mix up the clearly simple difference of 'your' and 'you're'.

_'It's you're. As in you are, not the possessive your. Your message could be improved by stating this instead: "Oh my goodness, you are not dead. I am smiling."'_

He hopped up once again to retrieve his tea. Taking a sip, he noted the strong flavour of cinnamon and a subtle hint of nutmeg. Perfect. As usual.

_'did you even pay attention to anything i just said?'_

_Message received at 6:08 pm._

Arthur momentarily felt bad for ignoring the boy because of a grammar mistake, but brushed it off quickly.

_'No. I was distracted by your awful grammar.'_

Well... no point in lying to him. A few moments later, a text shot up on screen.

_'dude, YOUR impossible. lol.'_

_Message received at 6:10 pm._

Before he had the time to type back an angrily worded text, another one popped up.

_'im just excited for this job, i guess. and the roost is a great place to work at! so... yeah, im just excited.'_

_Message received at 6:11 pm._

Arthur leaned back into the couch and shrugged his shoulders in a way that relieved the slightest bit of tension. At least he couldn't say Alfred wasn't respectable for working hard.

_'Well, I wish you the best of luck with it.'_

He flipped on the telly and let BBC play in the background. Good god, he was starting to feel like a teenage girl. Telly on, feet propped on the table, texting. He could have laughed. What a cliché.

_'heh. youre not getting away that easily, broski. ive already decided that im going to make you happy. yep, im gonna take that stuffiness and do right away with it. youll be like a whole new person once im done with ya.'_

_Message received at 6:14 pm._

Upon receiving the message, the Brit rolled his eyes and ignored it, setting his phone aside.

With Doctor Who still playing, he stood up and began to prepare the batter for scones. Once he deemed it well enough, he set the timer and laid back down on the couch. The last thing he heard before drifting off was, "My ship...my Tardis..."

xxx

A rather loud beeping interrupted his dreaming.

_'Shit...'_

Looking over, his oven was already spewing smoke. The fire alarm hadn't gone off yet, so that was good. But nonetheless, he raced over and turned it off, plucking the hot pan out of the cavern with union jack printed oven mitts.

He smiled proudly, looking over at his creation. They looked perfect.

However, before he got the chance to sample one, a loud rapping came from his door, accompanying a familiar voice.

"Dude! I smell smoke, what the hell are you doing in there? You okay?"

Arthur sighed and reached over to the handle to let him in.

"Yes. I'm fine. Just... baking."

Alfred didn't seem to register his response immediately as his eyes darted around the large room. He glanced at Arthur once more, out the window, then back to Arthur.

"Nice place. Looks even cooler than mine." He smiled, stepping in. "You were... baking?" The American grimaced as he looked over at the cloud of black smoke surrounding a pan on the stovetop.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Yes, what is it? Something wrong?"

Alfred chuckled. "Nah. You're just not much of a baker. And by that, I mean I think you could poison someone with that."

He let out a slight growl before exploding. His food was perfect. Perfect. "Idiot, I let you into my home, and you have the balls to insult me?"

The other grinned.

"I guess so."

Silence.

"Out. I have things I need to do right now, and they don't involve you." Arthur growled, leading him back to the door.

"What, like making nuclear weapons out of your baked goods?" Alfred said, still laughing as he walked into the hallway. Though before Arthur had a chance to slam the door in his face, he spoke up.

"We still have to do that kitty playdate."

"Feline tea party." Arthur corrected, almost shocked at how quickly he responded.

"Alright, feline tea party. I get off at like... 6, so I'll come over then?" He asked, peering inside his apartment.

"...Fine. But if you insult my food again, I swear, I'll call the cops."

Alfred frowned. "Meanie."

"Git."

And then, the door was slammed in the others face.

_'is this how you say goodbye to every1? no wonder you have no friends! D:'_

_Message received at 6:59 pm._

_'Fuck you.'_

_Message sent at 7:00 pm._

* * *

><p><strong>My, look who's alive! Yes. It's me. I haven't updated this story since last year. (Heh.)<strong>

**I apologize for my lack of updates. I haven't had much access to my computer as of lately. However, I hope you enjoyed this chapter nonetheless.**

**I hope you all had lovely holidays. This is my gift to you.**

**Next chapter up soon. Good night!**

**-chibitalex**


	4. Chapter 4

Alfred slammed through the thin wooden door to his apartment. The rent was rather high for such a small place, but that's New York for you. And after seeing Arthur's apartment, it only further accentuated his point that you could have wealth living right next door to poverty.

Not that he was living in poverty, exactly. He could afford to eat and buy a few luxuries, but he did have to get two jobs to make it happen. Alfred plopped down on his couch and clicked his tongue for Hero to come over. Hero quickly popped around the corner and hopped onto his lap, nipping at his jacket. The cat's eyes lit up when he pulled a bag of McDonalds out from under the leather.

"Sorry, bud. This is for me," He laughed. At that moment, he was sure that Hero had never looked so upset in his life. "Oh, come on! Don't look at me like that!"

For some reason, the furball was more dog than cat, as he somehow found a way to make puppy-dog eyes. Even as a cat.

Alfred sighed. "I have your food, too, you know. Just give me a sec and I'll get it out."

Hero purred and rubbed his fluffy head against his hand, encouraging him for a pet. Gladly, his owner complied and began stroking his fur, scratching behind his ears.

Absent-mindedly, Alfred began looking around his new home. Most of the place was a studio, but there was also a tiny bathroom with a shower and toilet. It also had a sink, but it seems that the previous occupants had been so inconsiderate, they hadn't even wiped it. As a result, soap scum and toothpaste gunk was slathered all over it. The place had a tiny sleeping alcove in the corner, but it was mostly unused. The rent was so high; he hadn't had enough money left over to afford a bed. Thank god for pull out couches. At least the kitchen was nice. With granite countertops and a nice stove, it was probably the nicest area in the entire apartment. His television and various gaming systems were still sitting along the wall, though. No way was he going to give those up.

It was also expensive. About $2700 dollars a month, in fact. The sad thing was that it was the cheapest he could find. Another thing to be expected in New York . Thus, two jobs. The Times paid pretty well, but not nearly enough for rent. Though, The Roost was a good place. The people were nice, and they tipped pretty well from what he'd seen.

Alfred stood up and poured dry protein flakes into a bowl for Hero before settling into the couch and devouring his hamburger. Oh yeah. This was definitely worth the extra few blocks walk.

xxx

Early the next morning, Arthur was already up and scurrying about, trying to get his apartment ready for his publisher. The Japanese man was very kind, but firm when it came to book sales and overall business. The sun hadn't even risen over the skyline yet, but that was another thing about Mr. Honda- he insisted on meeting early in the morning, for fear of Arthur's pseudonym being revealed. He was a well-known publisher, after all.

Arthur grimaced as his duster picked up a thick layer of dust on the top of the book shelf. How had he allowed his home to become so dirty? It was revolting, and honestly, he was a bit ashamed of it. In the back on his mind, he could practically hear his neighbor saying something annoying and idiotic, '_I don't think he's gonna look up there, dude! Chill!'_

Alfred was rather annoying, in his opinion. When he had moved here, his neighbors were something he had never even batted at eye at. They were just those people who happened to live in his building. Maybe it was due to the American living in a rural town as a boy? He seemed to recall him mentioning something like that, but no matter. The clock was ticking.

The kettle whistled in the background, successfully interrupting his thoughts and bringing him back to reality. Arthur briskly walked over and poured the water into a steeper, while grabbing a cloth and wiping down the oven. Which was also quite filthy, caked in burnt guck from last night's culinary adventure. It was worth it, though. The peas were delicious.

Hurry, hurry. No time to waste. Mr. Honda would be here any minute, and he hadn't even set out the scones yet. He grabbed a plate from the cupboard and set it out, dumping some of the cold scones he had made last night onto the plate. It was just as he had done this, a soft rapping came from the door.

"Hell..." Arthur muttered to himself as he patted his messy hair down in the mirror and straightened his tie. This was going to be a good meeting. A great meeting. He carefully opened the door and put on the nicest smile he could give.

"Mr. Honda. Hello." Arthur smiled, shaking the man's hand.

"Hello, Kirkland-san. It's nice to see you again," He said politely, articulating each word. "May I come in?"

The two stepped into the apartment, and Arthur took his coat, hanging it up on the rack next to them. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the esteemed publisher poking and prodding at his scones. Probably contemplating how many he should eat.

"Allow me to cut to the chase," Mr. Honda said gravely. "Your draft for the next book isn't enjoyable."

Arthur's face rapidly drained of colour, then immediately went scarlet. His draft? Not enjoyable? That's... a lie, it has to be. He had worked on that for months now! Even while the third book was in publishing, he was working on it. It was well-written, too.

"That... why, may I ask?" He asked dryly.

Mr. Honda looked uneasily down at the scones, then back up at him. "Katia and James are supposed to be together. As are Alessa and Joshua. I am not sure why you insist upon breaking them up."

The Englishman felt his mouth dry as he pressed his lips together and stuttered out, "Well... that's... I haven't been feeling much romance between them as of recently."

The other shook his head. "It does not matter. You need to find some, or the last book will not sell."

"What if I killed off two of them? It could be an interesting plot twist, and I'm sure it will leave the readers in tears." He said quickly.

"Kirkland-san. What is your series about?" Mr. Honda asked with a somewhat passive-agressive tone that reminded Arthur vaguely of a serial killer.

"Lost love and romance."

"Correct," The man nodded. "Do you think it would be wise to stop writing romance?"

"No... but-"

"I will not take no for an answer."

Arthur sighed and twiddled his thumbs before taking a sip of his tea. "Yes. I understand."

Mr. Honda nodded and stood up, grabbing his coat from the rack. "Thank you, Kirkland-san. Now, I must be going. I have some business to attend to in Queens."

Without saying another word, Mr. Honda walked directly out, ignoring his offer to put some scones in a take-home bag for him. Which left Arthur sitting alone at his table in disdain.

How could he possibly write about something that had left him months ago?

xxx

The next few hours had left Arthur in a daze. At one point, he had gotten his laptop and attempted to write, but it didn't go so well. The only thing he'd accomplished today was plowing through a novel in a pathetic attempt to get his mind off of things. This didn't work, and in the end, it only left him more upset.

Crumpets seemed to notice this, and made an effort to be somewhat affectionate. But with Crumpets, 'somewhat affectionate' meant sitting next to you on the couch as you watched telly. Actually, that was about as good as you'd get. Ever.

Through his temporary writer's depression, he had somehow let the time slip to six without realizing it. Though he remembered instantly when a pounding came from his front door, accompanied by an obnoxiously loud voice.

"Artie! Open up, man! Hero's here, and he wants to say hi to your boring cat!"

Now, if he didn't recognize that voice, Mother Nature hereby had permission to strike him down with lightning where he stood.

Rather reluctantly, he opened the door with a forced smile. "Alfred. It's nice to see you."

The American laughed and stepped in. "It's weird when you're nice. A little creepy, too. It's also weird when you fake smiles. Kind of makes you look like an eyebrow-demon." Alfred said nonchalantly as he looked around.

And there it went.

"Leave. Out. Now." Arthur grumbled, pushing him back towards the door. Alfred grimaced and put Hero on the ground before grinning again.

"Nope, not leaving," He said, flopping down on the couch and closing his eyes.

The two began to argue, as across the room, the two felines began to share a spot of sun in the window.

Noticing this, Alfred paused and pointed over at them. "Looks like they're getting cosy over there."

Arthur plopped down next to him with a freshly made mug of tea and sipped it tentatively. "I agree. What exactly is your cat's name, again?"

"Hero!" Alfred grinned. Scoffng, the Englishman turned away.

"That's a horrible name."

"Well, he sure seems to like it," Alfred pouted. "Anyway... uh, how was your day?"

Sinking into the couch, Arthur sighed a bit and swirled the tip of his tea with his fingertip. "Not perfect. My publisher gave me somewhat of a lecture on my latest draft."

"Ah," He noted. "Sorry to hear that, man. What series do you write, again?"

"None of your business. Am I right to assume that your day was fine?"

"Yup! I got my first assignment. Basically, I have to go and take pictures of all these places around the city." Alfred beamed.

"Oh, really? Where are these places?" Arthur asked.

With a shrug, Alfred replied, "Just cool little places around the city. Dylan's Candy Bar, S'mac, The 21 Club... it's pretty cool."

"The 21 Club is a rather odd addition to such a cheery list," Arthur noted as he sipped his tea.

"Yeah," He admitted. "But still cool. Hey, you should come with me! I mean, it'll get your mind off the whole publishing thing."

There was a moment of silence as Arthur pondered this. On one hand, they had just met yesterday. But on the other hand...

"That sounds lovely."

Alfred nodded and put out his hand for a fist pound. "Coolio. I have my first day at The Roost tomorrow, though. So yeah... we'll go next Saturday or something."

Mentally thinking through his schedule, Arthur nodded. "Alright. It'd be nice to get to know each other better, seeing as I assume we'll be around each other often."

"Yep!" Alfred grinned, "You know, you're not half-bad."

"You annoy me."

The other made a pained look and grabbed at his arm. "Ouch. Give me some ice for that burn, Artie."

"Oh, shut your mouth," Arthur said, looking off in the opposite direction. At least it would take his mind off of his draft.

* * *

><p><strong>Oh god. Still no computer. Though, this isn't an excuse, so I'm going to make a commitment to this, and update AT LEAST once a week. I really do love this story, you know. Anyway, I'm so happy to see that so many of you are enjoying this! It makes me so happy when I see a review, I just want to explode. But, ah... yes. Thank you for your kind words. Next chapter? It'll be up soon.<strong>

**-chibitalex**


	5. Chapter 5

The Roost- Formed in 1986, he had learned- was created by a single person. There was only one barista, a reserved old man who would continuously polish the same coffee mug until it sparkled in the dim yellow lighting. Typically, he would keep to himself and only speak if you asked for something. The few customers he had could see how dedicated he was to his work. Every so often, he'd add a new recipe to the chalkboard menu placed above the pressers and bags of beans. His own blends, cakes, breads, or other simple little delicacies that the regulars enjoyed greatly. Though nothing lasts forever. As he began to age, he had called in his grandson to the shop; A young Roderich Edelstien. The boy had just gotten out of college with an extravagant degree in music and several other minors. Within a few simple words, the grandson now owned the shop. And according to him, it was now his dream to keep his grandfather's alive.

Alfred glanced down at the paper in front of him and blinked several times. Wasn't he supposed to be making coffee? Or doing something other than reading a paper about the history of the store? It all seemed a bit pointless to force him to read this. With his selective memory, he wouldn't be able to remember any of it.

His thoughts were quickly interrupted as a young man with wide framed black glasses walked through the back door and placed a crate down on the table.

"Jones, are you done reading? You need to get to work."

The blond man looked up and gave him a thumbs up before folding the paper and setting it in his pocket. "Yup. I hear your grandfather used to own this place?"

Roderich nodded and began sorting out the bags of coffee on the table by blend and intensity. "Yes. We value our history here at The Roost very seriously. I trust you'll honour it."

"Of course! I mean, I kind of already got the vibe that this was a family place. It's got that kind of thing going on," Alfred responded and nodded his head vigorously. "Yeah, I'll do my best."

"I hope so. Work. Now. The regulars are going to be coming in any moment now."

Triumphantly, Alfred strutted back behind the coffee bar and stared at the door with the intensity of five thousand burning suns, waiting for his first customer. No one approached, but the wind did seem to howl with laughter at his eagerness to make a sale. So, he sighed and glanced at the glass case full of pastries and breads.

His patience was soon rewarded when a petite girl with dark brown twintails opened the door and dusted her blue coat off. Her high heeled boots clunked against the wooden floor as she made her way to the register with a bright smile.

"Alfred! It's great to see you!" She said, pulling her wallet out of her ribboned purse. "I didn't know you worked here."

The American wracked his brain for any sign of her and then recognized her as his landlord, the one he had seen for barely two seconds the day he moved into the apartments. She seemed friendly enough, but a little too busy to keep track of. Angelique, was it?

"Hey, Angelique!" He grinned, rocking back on his feet. "Yeah, today's my first day! The apartment's great, thanks for showing me around."

"A double mocha, please? And a raspberry scone, too." Angelique asked. Alfred nodded and set off to work as she began to absent-mindedly speak of her tenants, how some weren't paying, how some were being too loud, and he coaxed her on with encouraging nods and questions every so often before setting the steaming mug and bag in front of her.

"Thanks," She smiled. "So, I heard that you're friends with Arthur Kirkland now?"

Alfred shrugged and wiped down the counter with his dishrag.

"Kind of. He doesn't seem to like me that much."

"Oh, he does that with everyone. Trust me, I went to high school with him," She said, scribbling some things down onto a notepad she had brought with her.

"Really?" He perked up. "What was he like?"

She giggled and dunked her scone into the drink. "Very... douchebaggey."

"He's like that now."

"No, no, no! Like... he was kind of a punk. Listened to all of this heavy metal... and he was pretty much a douchebag." She said. Pausing, she scoffed. "Not like that has changed."

"Yeah. But I kind of like it. I mean, I kind of like his personality," Alfred stumbled. Seeing the odd look he was getting from Angelique, he fumbled with his hands to try to explain it in the best way possible. "He seems cool deep down! And yeah, I dunno. It's refreshing to meet someone like him."

"Well, he's never much liked me. Maybe you'll have better luck with him. But anyway," She said, standing up. "I need to get going. I have a meeting down the road with the city."

"Alright. See ya! It was nice talking to you." He said with a large grin, nudging the tip jar closer to the edge of the counter. Angelique slipped a five into the (empty- it wasn't now, anyway.) jar and smiled, opening the door and bumping into a man.

"Speak of the devil," She murmured before exiting and trudging in the snow down the city road.

Alfred only got a moment's worth of silent and wiping the already clean counter before some rather... colourful insults and sputtering came from the other side of the room. Rather confused he looked up and saw a distraught Arthur staring straight at him. He was carrying his laptop and a notepad filled with words and scribbles, probably for his writing or something.

"Hey, Artie. What'cha makin' that face for?"

Arthur was silent for a moment before setting down his things and glaring at him weakly. "I forgot you were going to be here today, that's all. If I had known, I would have picked somewhere else."

"Yeah, sure. I don't think you would have, I'm pretty cool," Alfred grinned, earning a scowl from the other. "Anyway, what kind of tea?"

"English Breakfast, please. And a scone?"

"Sure. What flavour scone?"

"Regular."

"On it."

The two kept the silence for a moment as he made the tea, and Arthur stared blankly at his computer screen with mirth and disgust. A few minutes passed by without a word from them, which was a first for the pair. Another few moments passed before Alfred hopped over the counter with the food in hand and set them down next to Arthur. He nodded in thanks and then turned his attention back to what seemed to be an empty word document on his screen.

"Hey, what's that?" Alfred asked, breaking the elongated silence.

"Nothing. It's absolutely nothing." Arthur huffed, flinging himself back in the leather chair. His fingers groped for the mug of tea and he gulped down a swig in frustration. "And that's the problem."

"Oh, is this your new draft?"

"It will be," He muttered, attempting to tap out a starting sentence, but failing miserably. At this rate, his backspace key would be sticky by the end of the hour.

Alfred pulled over a chair and staring at the blank document along with him, gradually getting closer to the screen until his nose bumped against the edge of the display.

"...What on Earth are you doing?"

Pulling back, he grinned and shrugged his shoulders. "Duh, trying to make you laugh. You look really tense right now."

A ghost of a smile brought it's way onto Arthur's lips before he straightened back into a stoic expression and grabbed his cell phone.

"Alright, idiot, whatever you say," He said, standing up. "I need to go call my publisher. Do not touch my computer while I'm gone."

A devilish grin appeared on the other's face as he rocked back into the chair. "Or what?"

"Or I won't tip you. Now, excuse me..."

A rush of cold air hit Alfred straight in the face before the door closed again and left him alone in the small shop. But he, however, was as warm and happy as ever inside.

He had made him smile.

* * *

><p><strong>Blurgggh. I apologise for not uploading this yesterday. The Document Manager kept logging me out, so I waited until this morning. Anyway, short chapter- But I think I'm going to update earlier than usual this week. Thank you for all of the reviews! I'm really happy that you like the way this story is going so far, and I hope you'll continue to follow it. Next chapter? It'll be up soon.<strong>

-chibitalex


	6. Chapter 6

Arthur pulled out his phone the moment he walked outside and dusted off the snow with his glove. Truth be told, Mr. Honda didn't needed to be called right now. In fact, he'd most likely resent the disruption from whatever he was doing at the moment.

He stared at the shiny, glass screen- still turned off- and leaned back against the brick wall. There was nothing much he could now, now was there? Why did he even come out here in the first place? Peeking his head around the corner and through the glass door, he could just barely see Alfred hopping back over the counter and wipe at it again absent-mindedly. A look of boredom was clearly present on his face. Every second or so, he'd glance back over at Arthur's laptop with a faint spark of interest. Arthur threw all of his force into a single murderous glare, and tried to coax him away from the machine subconsciously. A vague thought of losing any respect he may have held for the boy crossed his mind.

Alfred hesitantly looked away from his laptop and wrung out the cloth in the sink. Arthur sighed in relief and turned his mind back to his phone. He tuned it out of sleep mode, and all at once, about ten different messages popped up, all from Alfred. What on Earth...

_'yo artie so guess what'_

_Message received at 4:03 am._

_'i can't sleep.'_

_Message received at 4:03 am._

_'like it's fuckin 4 am and I CANT SLEEP'_

_Message received at 4:04 am._

_'i dunno why im texting u, really'_

_Message received at 4:04 am._

_'i mean, YOUR probly asleep'_

_Message received at 4:04 am._

_'heheh YOUR'_

_Message received at 4:04 am._

_'but like it's weird. i really want us 2 be friends and shit'_

_Message received at 4:05 am._

_'and YOUR just so damn hard to get 2 know! back in my hometown, i knew everyone. so yeah, it's weird.'_

_Message received at 4:05 am._

_'eehhhh whatevs ull probly ignore these. im gonna try and sleep now. night.'_

_Message received at 4:17 am._

Arthur stared at his screen with annoyance, barely overshadowing astonishment. Did Alfred really want them to be friends this badly? What could he ever see in him? He was well aware that he didn't rub off as a... people person, exactly. Rubbing at the screen, he peeked around the corner and stared at the man who had sent the multitude of messages. Alfred Fucking Jones. Arthur glanced back down at the screen and shoved it back into his pocket. Stomping up the three stone steps up to the door, he shoved it open and marched back to his table. Dammit. He really shouldn't be doing this, but...

"Alfred. Come over here."

Alfred, who had been watching him with a look that could only be described as a mixture of amusement and surprise ever since he walked in, tilted his head as he hopped back over the counter.

"Yeah? What's up?" He asked, settling next to him with a wooden chair he dragged over.

"I want you to listen to me carefully," Arthur began, closing the screen of his laptop. "I'm about to take a huge risk here."

"Sure, man. I won't tell anyone," Alfred nodded eagerly, before puffing out his chest and placing his hands on his hips. "Have faith in the hero!"

"Alright then," There was a brief pause before he looked back up and took a deep breath. "I don't trust easily, as I'm sure you've noticed. But... I think I'm going to try and trust you."

"Trust me?"

"Yes."

"With... with what?" He asked with a slightly confused look.

"Me, you imbecile!" Arthur exclaimed with an exasperated sigh. "My feelings! _My trust!_"

"Oh. _Oooooh." _Alfred said slowly. "Sweet."

The other gave him a murderous glare and flicked his forehead. Alfred briefly winced in pain and opened his mouth to say something, but Arthur cut him off before he could finish.

"I decide I'm going to try harder to be friendlier to you, to trust you, and you just- mmph!-"

Alfred rolled his eyes and clamped a hand over his mouth. Boy, he seemed pissed. Well... There was nothing he could say now, so...

"Hey, hey, hey! Chill! You're too dramatic!" He paused. No, that didn't sound right. Too harsh. Try again. "Like... you really are a writer, aren't you? You don't need to 'try' and trust me. Just let it happen. You can't force trust. I really do want to get to know you better, but just don't force yourself to be nice to me, okay? I think you're cool because of your attitude. It's just kinda endearing, and I'd hate to lose that just because you decide you're going to force yourself to be friendly. Ah, hell... what am I even saying?"

Green eyes bored into Alfred's own, before he felt a moist swipe of a tongue on his palm.

"Ah! Jesus, what the hell?" He leapt back. "Ewww!"

"Well, you shouldn't have stuck your palm to my face!" Arthur grimaced in disgust. "I could practically taste the idiot."

"Yuck, now I have to wash off all the British... is your bad cooking contagious? 'Cause then I _really_ need to wash my hands..."

Alfred shook his hand in the air and began to scoot away from the table, however, Arthur grabbed his wrist as he began to stand. "...Thank you."

With a grin, Alfred shot him a thumbs up using his other hand. "Anytime, Artie."

"My name is Arthur," He said, releasing Alfred's wrist and packing away his laptop with a scowl.

"I like Artie. So I'm gonna call you Artie."

The Englishman huffed and threw the paper mug into the rubbish bin across from himself. Shit. That had taken too much time. Crumpets was probably ripping up the sofa for every second he stood here.

"I need to go, Alfred. Perhaps I'll see you tonight."

"Alright! See ya!" Alfred began. "But if I caught your culinary skills from that, you're gonna have to pay my hospital bills.

As the door swung closed, he could faintly hear a, _'Bugger off!'_ against the wind.

* * *

><p><strong>I must apologise for the wait. I had quarter projects- including a speech that had to be memorised, and this... FCAT explorer BS. I was also away, but I had to publish this today, so I must apologise again for it being so short. Longer chapter next week. I promise. Thank you all for tolerating me. Anyway... I feel that Arthur would actually do this in canonin a relationship. Trying to express that he's sorry for treating them horribly simply because he's bad at expressing warm fuzzy feelings. Oh, oh, oh. And in this story, Arthur is an INTJ and Alfred is an ENFP. Perfect match. We've gotten them up to friends, so it's only a matter of time before they start fucking, right? Right. Next chapter? It'll be up soon.**

-chibitalex


	7. Chapter 7

Alfred woke up on Saturday with a grin plastered on his face and song on the tip of his tongue. Over by the window perched a Peregrine Falcon; the fastest birds in existence. The fastest birds in existence that, appropriately, chose to live in bustling cities. Hero was purring softly under the blankets and nuzzling his toes. Now, Alfred didn't mind this. But when he started to feel a nibble, he sat right up.

"No, Hero! My toes are not sausages!" He cried, plucking the furry beast out from under the blankets. Hero stared back at him with an almost unimpressed look on his face until Alfred's temporary anger melted away. "What? You hungry?" He asked.

Alfred didn't really need to ask that. Of course he was, his cat was always hungry. Even more so than him. He quickly climbed out of bed and shuffled to the kitchen area to open a can of tuna. Meanwhile, Hero was practically leaping for joy at the sight (and smell) of food. But of course he couldn't let himself go hungry either, so after plopping a chunk of unidentifiable meat that claimed to be fish in Hero's food bowl, Alfred poured himself out some Fruit Loops and settled down by the large window. The sun had just barely risen over the tips of the skyscrapers outside. Of course, this was how the days always started in the city. He could hear the alarms and sirens blaring through his window glass. This was nothing new in such a large city as New York. Probably just petty thefts. The smell of New York wasn't something he particularly enjoyed, either. There was no visible smog, but it did make breathing thick. Here, no one knew him. It was honestly… upsetting. It wasn't like that in Massachusetts. In Massachusetts, everyone knew him. They all loved him. His entire block would gush over how cute he was, to how fast he'd grown up; to how upset they were that their little boy was moving away.

All kids need to grow up eventually. His family knew that. He knew that. The town knew that. But it seemed they were having trouble accepting it. They gave him a large send off, (Unnecessary if you asked him.) and many tears were shed. (All from them.) He was not a child. He hadn't been a child for a while now. They couldn't keep clinging onto him, could they? It was his life, after all.

Back in his old town, he knew absolutely everyone. From their first name to their last name, he remembered absolutely everything about them. Now, here was a different story. He had his boss- Gilbert. Gilbert was a bit… forceful, and very demanding. But he could manage people, and that was really all that mattered. He knew Lili, the small girl who was Gilbert's secretary. She was soft-spoken, but the girl clearly had guts. On Alfred's first day, he had walked in on Lili (Politely) demanding the latest report from a vendor of theirs over the phone. Not just any vendor, though- one of the most infamous vendors in the city. Yikes. There was Ludwig, who ran one of the many local bookshops. Francis, who he had met while walking through Central Park the other day. Apparently, he was a writer as well. Could he know Arthur? All of those writer-types seemed to know each other.

And, of course, Arthur Kirkland. He knew Arthur Kirkland the best of anyone he had met in the city. The Brit was his surly, writer neighbor.

_'Would it be able for us to get close?' _Alfred wondered. Arthur didn't seem particularly interested in friendship. He didn't seem interested in a relationship, either. Alfred pondered over if whether the other could possibly be in a relationship or not. Probably not. It wasn't that he wasn't attractive, (Because he definitely was.) but his cold, hard exterior made him think that maybe he was just lonely. He didn't seem to have many friends, either. Alfred sighed.

_'I'll just ask him later today.' _He thought.

Today…

Today!

Today was Saturday!

The day Arthur had agreed to go into the city with him for his photography story. He nearly jumped out of his chair and threw his cereal bowl to the ground in realization. Quickly, quickly. He was probably already waiting for Alfred to pick him up. So, he threw some jeans on, his jacket, and patted Hero's head before running out the door and banging on the wood next to his apartment.

"Artie? It's Alfred!" He yelled, knocking on the door. Was he even here?

Slowly, the door opened, revealing a disheveled Arthur, still dressed in pajamas and yawning. His hair turned upwards in every direction, and his green eyes were still glazed over with sleep.

"Alfred? What in the hell are you doing here? Bollocks, you're up even earlier than I am!" Arthur said with a note of surprise hidden amongst the clear irritation in his voice. "What time is it? Six? Seven?"

Alfred shook his head and chuckled. "It's like eleven in the morning, man."

"E… Eleven?" He asked, the surprise in his voice now clearly showing through.

"Yeah. Eleven. What's up? Did you have a late night or something?" Alfred honestly did wonder. The man had said before that he kept on a tight schedule. Early bedtimes, early rise times.

"No." He responded much too quickly. "It's Saturday, isn't it? Well, get in here, I suppose. I'm going to go get ready for our time out. Would you like something to drink?" Arthur said as he poured himself a glass of ice water from the pitcher in the fridge.

Meanwhile, a Scottish Fold had made its way to Alfred's legs and began sniffing them. The cat was very gentle and nearly unnoticeable. In fact, he probably wouldn't have even seen him if he hadn't glanced down to admire the small foyer's carpet.

"Coffee's fine," Alfred said as he kneeled down to rub at his head. Crumpets was his name, wasn't it? If he remembered correctly, Hero had immediately taken a liking to the cat.

"I don't keep coffee in this apartment," Arthur began, pursing his lips slightly. "May I interest you in some tea?"

Alfred grimaced. "Nope, you sure can't. How about I just take you out for brunch before we head out? Seems a lot easier than sitting here and pretending that I actually like what you have to offer me. I remember what you did with the scones the other day." He grinned.

"Why you-!" Arthur sputtered. "I fell asleep! That's… that wasn't my fault!"

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, Artie. Whatever you say."

"I'm going to get dressed! And I hope you're going to stick to your promise of brunch, seeing as I'm making you pay for it after that comment," He responded through gritted teeth as he stomped off into his bedroom.

"I was gonna pay for it anyway!" Alfred shouted out from the couch. There was no response from the other.

xxx

After a few more insults being whipped back and forth at each other, Alfred and Arthur set off onto the streets of New York together. And Arthur wouldn't admit it to Alfred, but yes- he had a late night.

It was torture. Writer's block was absolute torture. No matter how much you may want to write, or how many ideas you may have, you can simply not get them out. He was up until four in the morning, sitting on his couch with a cup of tea and fingers in a perfect typing position over his keyboard. Nothing came out, and he was left staring at the empty Word document with a frown on his face. How long had his writer's block lasted? The last time he could remember writing without even so much as a pause between sentences was near the end of the third book. Of course. That was when he had gotten the phone call. The day was sunny, only several clouds scattered in the sky. His boyfriend and he hadn't been getting along recently. There were too many fights, too many nights gone without so much as a hug. Just a simple phone threw him into a spiral. The caller ID had his boyfriend's name on it, but no- he wouldn't answer. The damn prick was probably just calling to pressure him again about finally having sex. But there was a simple message on the end that echoed through the apartment.

_"This isn't really working out. I'm sorry, but we need to split. I can't just have you leading me on like this."_

Leading him on! What a load of bull. Just because he didn't feel comfortable about having sex so soon meant that he was leading him on?

It wasn't the fact that they had broken up that left him with a horrible case of writer's block. No, he had moved on even _before _they had split. But every time he sat with his laptop, Word open, he couldn't help but wonder if the main couple would end up like him. Would they split up because of the other's sex drive? Was the book all pointless? Would their first love end up spiraling out of control and crashing in a pit somewhere? Katia and Joshua surely had more to live for than he. But the author only starts the story, the readers finish it. Could it be that they weren't each other's true love? Would they think they had found the one, only to have their hopes dashed? There was no way to make sure. Every day he tried to write, the thoughts would plague his mind until he could finally block them out. But at that point, it was too late. When he wasn't thinking of them, the thoughts would come back in other ways. Romance gradually became more difficult for him to write. Nothing seemed to flow anymore. His sentences became choppier and choppier until finally he'd just delete the paragraphs he had and restart the entire thing. True love didn't exist. At any point, it could fail. He had convinced himself of that months ago. And as far as he was concerned? The sooner, the better.

But currently, Alfred was dragging him off to some diner in the city, and he was forced to forget his tiredness to even make an attempt at listening to Alfred's ramblings. What was he even going on about now? Superheroes? Avengers? His train of thought had sped off the tracks and slammed into a port nearby.

"Arthur? He-llooo? Anyone home?" Alfred asked, waving his hand in front of Arthur's face. There was a moment where the Englishman blinked to familiarize himself with his surroundings and situations, but the moment lasted for less than five seconds. As soon as he snapped back into reality, he grunted and shoved the American's hand away from his face.

"Yes, I'm quite fine. Where are we going, exactly?"

"To Shopsin's. It's this neat little place on Lexington that has all these weird foods 'nd shit," Alfred began. "Actually, here it is now."

The two shoved the rapidly accumulating snow off of their heads and brushed the white off of their boots before stepping inside together, squeezing through the narrow doorway. The place was rather modern for Arthur's tastes- he preferred more quaint surroundings- but it seemed like a clean establishment. Dome lights hung from the ceilings and plastic chairs from an odd shop in Sweden rested upon the polished concrete floors. The staff was bustling around, despite the fact that there were only about three couples currently seated in the café, out for brunch.

Alfred and Arthur were seated at a little two-seater table down by the window, giving them an excellent view of the currently falling snow. They both put in their order, after much debate from Arthur, (Mac and Cheese Pancakes? _Really?_) and sat in a comfortable silence for a spell until Alfred broke it.

"So, why were you up late last night?"

Arthur's head quirked up in interest. Slowly, he raised an eyebrow and took a sip of his tea. "I wasn't up late last night."

Alfred gave a dry laugh. "Really? C'mon, you expect me to believe that? You look like a zombie. I'm not that stupid."

"I never said you were stupid."

Another laugh from the other. "Yeah, well, you must think it if you really expect that I'd believe you."

Arthur opened his mouth to respond hastily, with a fiery snap back, but quickly shut it. There were some things he needed to think through.

"I was up late because I had trouble writing," He finally responded, after a long moment's pause. "I just can't get the words to flow out. It's horrible, and I'm worried about whether I'll make the deadline for my manuscript." He paused to laugh humourlessly. "I probably won't, not at this rate."

Alfred listened in careful silence and took a sip of his coffee. He glanced into the dark brew and added another drop of milk into it, lifting his head up at staring directly into Arthur's green eyes as he stirred.

"You should have more faith in yourself, man. It could be worse, couldn't it? You could be a simple man with a knack for writing, but no publisher. You could have never been discovered or accepted into anything. As far as I'm concerned, you're doing fine! The words will get out to you soon, you just need some inspiration." He said softly as he reached across the table to place his hand on top of Arthur's. The other's ears immediately tinted red, but he made no effort to move his hand away.

"Right… inspiration…" Arthur stared off. "I haven't felt inspiration for quite some time now, you know. If I had, well, we wouldn't be having this discussion."

"Well, how about this? Do you have a girlfriend? Boyfriend? Maybe they can help you. People are kinda weird like that. Some things they do can leave a huge impact in your mind."

They did. They definitely could, Arthur knew this first hand. Not that the person helped, only harmed his flow. If there was one way to get back his streak, it wasn't people. It would never be people again. He had made the choice several months after the break up that only after _Thorns _had completed would he move on with his life and grow back into finding his other half. Arthur mentally chastised himself for being so… cheesy. Well, he was a romance novelist after all.

"No. I'm single." He managed to get out after what seemed like hours of silent debate and recognition in his mind.

Alfred grinned. "I thought so! Maybe that's what you need? A relationship to get your inspiration back?"

Arthur yanked his hand away from the American's and folded his arms across his chest. "I will never depend on anyone to keep my writing alive and well. My writing is my business. Not anyone else's," He began, completely oblivious to the defeated expression Alfred was now wearing. "And besides! I shouldn't even need to rely on someone for inspiration! It's… I'm… a writer. These sorts of things should come naturally to me. I shouldn't be so limp."

Alfred looked straight ahead at the man seated in front of him. The shell of a man, rather. Arthur was clearly someone who valued his pride, who survived and thrived on self-reliance. But in that moment, he looked so empty and drained; it was as if he had nothing to live for. There was a story behind Arthur, Alfred could just sense it. Bags were growing under his eyes. Every day they met, there was just a bit more grey in his eyes than the day before. Was his writing truly all his had to live for? That surely couldn't be healthy.

"Arthur. Look at me."

Arthur took his eyes off the floor and let his hands rest on the table. He looked up into the blue eyes. Slowly, Alfred reached for both of his hands again and began speaking.

"It's not about that. It's not about relying on anyone. You do the work yourself, the inspiration comes to you. The other person can't just… y'know, give it to you. Every person in this room has it. You have it. I have it. Hell, everyone on this planet could inspire you," Arthur was staring straight at him, his expression unreadable. "But you need to let them. Let yourself get close enough to people so that you can take what they have to offer you. Do… do you get what I'm saying?" He gave a sheepish grin and looked off, breaking his smooth, calm exterior. "I'm probably just talking in circles, bu-"

"I get it, Alfred. I get it." Arthur broke in. He looked away and began staring at the floor once again. "But forgive me if I just don't think I'm ready for that quite yet. I don't think I can trust anyone like that at this moment."

Alfred sighed, but nodded his head. "Yeah, I understand. But promise me you'll try. Try to trust people. It's not good for you to be so… secluded."

The other chuckled and shook his head. "Believe me, I know. I'm still… afraid I can't really trus-"

"Oh, sorry! Am I interrupting something?" A perky brunette waitress asked, her hair tied up in a bouncy ponytail. Her hazel eyes darted to the pair's hands cupping the other's. "I could come back, if you want."

There was a slow moment of realization as Arthur jumped and yanked his hands away from Alfred's, shaking his head rapidly. "No, no, no! Nothing at all!"

She narrowed her eyes, but shrugged it off and handed the two of them their orders. Mac and Cheese pancakes for Alfred, Cinnamon Waffles for Arthur. As soon as she bobbed away, Alfred continued on with their conversation between bites of food.

"How about this, then? You said you'd trust me. Remember? Just a few days ago, at The Roost?" He asked, shoveling the pancakes into his mouth.

"Yes. I remember."

"Then do it. Trust me on this one. The inspiration's not gonna come if you don't let it."

Arthur sighed. He pushed the waffles around with his fork and shrugged. "I'm not quite sure about that."

"Then at least keep an open mind when we go out to everywhere today, alright? Just let yourself be a kid again." Alfred replied, washing down the remnants of his brunch with a swig of coffee.

"I suppose… oh bollocks, if I answer no; you'll never leave me alone, will you?" He asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Nope!" Alfred replied cheerily.

"Then alright. I promise I'll try my best to let the inspiration come to me today," Alfred's eyes lit up and he nearly let out a cheer, but Arthur put one finger up to silence him. "But only because I don't want to have you bugging me tomorrow."

"Oh, Artie…" The American grinned. "I was gonna bug you tomorrow anyway."

xxx

They had finished their brunch relatively soon after that, and set out for their first destination- Dylan's Candy Bar. A bright place, colours adorning the walls and paint slathered everywhere. The neon colours of the candy disturbed Arthur, but he made no comments, as everything actually ended up tasting quite well. Alfred was absolutely delighted to see Arthur not making any snarky comments about how childish it was, and he was able to snap a few shots of the walls and windows, the bins of wrapped and unwrapped candy. Now, Arthur hadn't realised it yet, but he would later- when he went to write. The ideas were bubbling up inside of him. S'mac was the second place, a rather small joint on the outskirts of the city. It had taken quite a few transfers on the subway to even come near it, and Arthur was already complaining about his feet and back by the time they arrived. Alfred simply brushed off all of his comments with a wave of his hand. _"We're almost there, just a little longer, Artie! And besides, shouldn't only old men be complaining about their backs and stuff?"_

Inside the shop were several tables, very cluttered and connected. It was warm in the restaurant, and as Alfred snapped more shots from different angles and lenses, Arthur browsed through the menu. It sounded fairly good, specialized in Mac and Cheese. They ended up sharing a small dish before they left. Something that could be viewed as a couple activity. Arthur's subconscious stored it away for him to find later. Several subway transfers later, they arrived at The 21 Club. Alfred used his press pass to get in, and started taking pictures right away. They were there on business, so neither of them could consume the vast amounts of alcohol that the establishment prided itself on. (Alfred didn't mind this. Arthur did.). It was a nice little place, filled with knick knacks artfully placed on ceilings and shelves, with beautiful leather chairs instead of rickety wooden ones. The perfect type of scenery for a location in _Thorns. _Arthur didn't realize this immediately. They two ended up walking back to their apartment building quite content and happy with how the day had gone, though the writer of the two was feeling significantly more tired than the other, yawning every four seconds or so.

"You seem like you're tired, Artie."

The other scoffed. "What an astute observation, dear Alfred. How ever did you figure that one out?"

He frowned and flipped his scarf over his jacket, hissing as if someone had poured lava on him. "Your sarcasm burns. Owie. Owie, ouch."

"You'll get over it." Arthur responded, swatting Alfred's arm. "I suppose I should retire now. You should as well, seeing as you have work tomorrow."

Alfred made a face. "Gross. Retirement. I probably should though. See you tomorrow?"

He nodded and shooed the American to his own door. "Yes, yes. Now sleep."

"Cool. Night, Artie!" Alfred smiled, before slamming the door shut.

Arthur unlocked his own door and set down his things before taking off his coat. Crumpets was napping on top of the radiator- big surprise- and his food bowl was still quite full. The Englishman hummed as he changed into his pajamas.

_'One more time. I'll attempt writing one more time today, then I'll get into bed.' _Arthur thought to himself. He expected the block again. The dreaded block that put filters on all of his greatest ideas, and that was assuming that he even had any to begin with.

But the block never came. He remembered the day he had with Alfred and the words began flowing out of his fingers, smoothly and cleanly, like water onto marble. Everything, from the scenery to the tastes, to the music. It all ran its course onto the document, and before he knew it, he had 3,000 words after only an hour. It was perfect. His spark was back. He'd finally done it.

But as he settled himself into the sheets, he couldn't help but wonder if it would stay. He couldn't help but wonder if it was actually him who found inspiration, or if so- in what.

* * *

><p><strong>Hey look, I updated. Wowee. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I cut out most of the visits to the places because honestly... how boring. Not many people want to hear about how delicious the hot chocolate was, or how cute Alfred thought Arthur looked when he accidentally dipped his nose into the foam. (Which may or may not have happened. You didn't hear it from me...) Unless it's a oneshot, or a driving point in the story. I don't really do 'filler' well.<strong>

**I added some of Alfred's backstory, and why Arthur has his block, so I really hope you enjoyed! I worked hard on this. Leave a review if you wish, because I'm eager to hear your opinions on the direction I'm taking this story.**

**-**chibitalex


	8. Chapter 8

The city was busy at every hour of the day; traffic never seemed to slow down. The sun rose, the sun set. But there would never be a break in the hustle and bustle of New York. However, the offices of The New York Times were closed and shut out from public eye at early hours, and that was exactly where a glasses-bearing man needed to go in the early hours of the morning. Alfred hesitated for a moment before rapping the back of his hand against the solid wooden door that shielded his boss from the rest of the office. You see, earlier this morning, Gilbert had requested for his presence earlier than usual, and like any good employee would do, he had graciously accepted and shown up at the allotted time. However, Gilbert seemed to be out at the moment. The American uneasily shifted his weight from one foot to the other and rocked back and forth as he waited for his boss to show up and invite him inside his space. In his right hand, he held a cup of freshly-brewed coffee he had picked up from The Roost before showing up at the offices, and in his left- well, nothing actually. But Alfred had to admit that he was nervous. Typically, a boss doesn't just invite you over before your workplace even opens to invite you out for poker later.

"Jones! There you are, buddy, I was lookin' everywhere for you!"

Briefly startled, he turned around and grinned at Gilbert. "Hey, boss! What'cha want, calling me out here so early?"

Gilbert patted his hands around in his pockets until he pulled out the small metal key with a satisfactory grin. "Well, get into the office, and I'll tell ya'."

The silver-haired man whisked him into the office and took special care to lock the door behind him. Alfred looked around the room and grimaced. It was quite small, just how an office should be, but the piles of clutter and stacks of papers from years ago littered the floor and made the space feel even smaller. If that was possible, and regardless what Alfred might have believed so before, it clearly was. The shutters let just a bit of light into the room- not nearly enough to get work done, but enough so that at least the room's occupant could see where they were going. As he… ahem, _admired_ the office, Gilbert shuffled around him and plopped down into a comfortable-looking chair with a huff.

"Damn hangovers," His boss muttered as he rubbed at his temples. Looking back up at Alfred with red eyes, he gave a somewhat watered-down version of his usual cocky grin. "You know the feeling, right?"

Alfred chuckled uncomfortably in his chair and kept his eyes at his feet. "Of course, man. They suck."

Lie. He never drank, only got drunk once in his life. And even then, he had been asleep to the effects of drinking.

"So, anyway. One of my best reporters, Elizaveta, just quit on me- totally unawesome." Gilbert said with a frown and a sigh. "She didn't even leave a memo or anything- She just packed her stuff and told me upfront that she wanted out of the city. Liz was working on an important story, too."

Alfred took a swig of his coffee and leaned forward. "So, where's this going? Do you need me to cut off the leads she had or something?"

"No. You're going to finish her goddamn story, because it's one of the best we've had in a while. I'll pay you reporter salary for it, too. But you're _going_ to finish it." He said with a near growl. Gilbert was serious about his work- he swore to never let anything as important as this just slip through his fingers, and Liz or no Liz, he was going to make sure someone finished it.

Alfred let out a breath he had been holding. So he wasn't fired after all. His relief was soon replaced with a near immediate sense of worry. No way, no how he could do this. Cameras were easy, he took a snapshot and bam- that was it. Writing was an entirely different story. "I dunno, boss. I'm just a photographer. You should probably get a real reporter to do this, don't you think?"

"All of my reporters are tied up- And look, Jones. You're going to do this story. You're the perfect guy to do it."

"The perfect guy? I've been working here for three weeks, boss. How could I be the perfect guy?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

Gilbert grunted and stood up, rubbing his temples again. He picked up a stack of papers and sorted through them as he made two piles on the desk. Another, which really didn't count as a stack, went directly into the wastebasket. Dust blew into Alfred's face with each file, until finally Gilbert seemed satisfied with one and plopped it in front of him. Curiosity now peaked, he grabbed the manila folder and skimmed the inside papers. There were fifteen papers at most sitting inside, with an abundance of pictures and paper clips as well. Slowly, he began to read the inside briefings.

_'Janice Mayflower… the romance novelist of the century… identity surrounded in shadows…'_

The Thorns series. Right, in college, that was all people were reading. Including him. If you told anyone, he'd probably go insane, but as a young college man, his dorm room was filled from the ceiling to the floors with Thorns merchandise. If he wasn't studying, he would pick up a Thorns book and reread it for the thousandth time. His old roommate, a dorky looking kid with a thick accent would tease him practically every day for it- but he quickly shut up when Alfred reminded him that at least _he _didn't pick the roses outside of the building and make them into bath salts. That was much dorkier. Back in reality, he looked up. "You want me to figure out who Janice Mayflower is?" Gilbert nodded. "Uh… I dunno, doesn't it seem kind of harsh to report on something that this person seriously doesn't want other people to know?"

"That's the business! It's not about morals and shit, it's about making a good, interesting story. You've seen it done before. I can't control what the people like to read. They buy our papers because we're interesting!" He said as he stood up and gesturing to the wall with awards half-heartedly plastered to it. "Those awards were given to us because of people liking what we report on. It's nothing new to the paper industry. In fact, it usually gives writers a boost in sales. So, why are you acting like you're afraid of hurting her feelings?" Gilbert mocked.

There was a deafening silence between the two before Alfred stood up and sighed. "I just don't know if I want to know who she is. That's all," His boss opened his mouth to say something more, but he cut Gilbert off before he could say anything by adding another, decisive sentence. "But I'll do the story."

His boss grinned. "I knew you'd do it, Jones! If you keep acting like this, everything's gonna go along awesomely here at The New York Times for you."

The photographs down in the file were of glances of the covers of copied manuscripts, buildings, people. Some had big, red, 'x's crossed over them. He examined them as he spoke again.

"So, boss, why am I the perfect guy for the job?"

"Easy. Check out that picture," He replied as he pointed at a blurry photo near the edge of the file. A grey building rested, covered in snow. The doorman stood very firmly, appearing to not notice the photographer who took the picture. But it wasn't just another building. He recognised that place.

"What's my apartment complex doing in this picture?"

"Liz took that picture. She had a lead that led her to your complex," Gilbert began. "And her stuff gives us a good reason to believe that whoever this," He pulled his fingers into air quotes. "_Janice_- is, she lives in your building. Who better to get this story done than you?"

And Alfred- oblivious to the possible implications that this could mean, grinned and thanked his boss for the story, his earlier case of nerves fading away as he walked out of the building with the file in his left hand.

xxx

Across the city, Arthur stared at the flashing lights in a sugar-coated display. Candy adorned the walls. He stared at the displays, and he felt nothing. Yesterday's magic was gone. It was all yesterday that his writer's block had ended, and he had vanquished it to the center of the Earth- only to have the dreaded thing return again. Children stared up at him curiously. Why was such a tall, grumpy man in a candy shop? Arthur didn't even know himself. He had traveled around to the previous places about in the city, the ones he and Alfred had visited last night. There was no inspiration to be found. At seven, he woke up refreshed from a restful night's sleep, only to hop back onto his laptop and find- nothing. His fingers remained poised at the keyboard, and no matter how much he glared and cursed at the screen, nothing came his way. The children that now seemed close to horrified by his feet scurried away as he tossed the green scarf he had made last year around his neck and hurried out of the shop.

Arthur now stood alone outside of the candy shop as cars whizzed around and about. And he was perfectly fine, not cold, not upset that his inspiration was only temporary, thank you. The day was still young, and so was he. Biting his lower lip, he called over a cab and climbed in. Central Park sounded perfect right now. The snow had finally let up, and a nice walk was all he needed to clear his mind right now. Traffic was smooth today. It took him less than ten minutes to actually get to the park, which was almost regrettable, as the cab driver was playing a smooth jazz soundtrack that actually sounded rather good. Thanking and paying the driver, he scooted out of the car and steadied himself on both feet as he walked off into the park.

It was windy today, but sunny as well. He could hear birds singing on the treetops. Stupid birds. They didn't write books, they wouldn't know anything at all about writers block.

And then he thought about what exactly he was doing.

"Ugh, this is fucking ridiculous! I'm cursing birds, for christ's sake!" Arthur yelled, picking up a rock and tossing it into the river. It didn't skip like he intended for it to, but instead, simply sunk into the deep blue.

"Arthur? Is that you?"

Startled and embarrassed, the Englishman jumped and turned around. A blond man, whose stubble showed that he clearly cared about fashion, was dressed in a long blue coat and casual black slacks.

"Ah, mon cher! It is you! I would recognize those eyebrows from miles away." The man joked.

Arthur scowled. "Francis Bonnefoy. What are you doing here?"

"Just out for a walk. Is that really such a crime?" Francis asked, walking forward to stand next to Arthur.

He scoffed. The two had been rivals since he graduated college, and in the meantime, formed a sort of dysfunctional friendship. That still didn't mean that Arthur wanted to see him at the moment, and in fact, he'd rather have anyone but his rival seen him like this. "Fuck off."

Francis laughed, clutching at his heart. "Oh, my soul! I am truly wounded! How cruel you are."

"Yes, well, I'm not in the mood for your idiocy right now, so I'd appreciate it if you'd just… leave me alone." He sighed, sitting down on a bench. Whether or not the Frenchman was deaf was now a topic to be debated, because he thoroughly ignored Arthur and sat down next to him.

"Writers block?"

Arthur gaped at him. "How did you know?"

"I've known you long enough to know when you're having a block. Have you tried traveling to new places? I remember when we started off in this craft, traveling used to help you."

The candy shop. The small restaurant. The wine bar.

"I've tried. It only worked for a small period of time."

Francis raised an eyebrow. "Have you tried taking a break from writing for a bit?"

"No," Arthur answered almost immediately. "I can't afford to take a break."

"Have you tried meeting a new person? A little love in your life could be good for you."

Alfred. His neighbor, yes. He had met him. They were now friends, weren't they? After all, they had gone out for pointless reasons, little dinners out together. They had gotten together to watch their cats play with each other. They were definitely friends. Francis, he could tell, wasn't talking about friendship. He was talking about love. A romantic relationship. Alfred, in a romantic relationship with him? No, that wasn't possible. They… they were just friends, that's all they were. Although… even he couldn't deny that the American was attractive. And rather charming as well. They had grown rather close in the course of the past three weeks. Alfred was single, wasn't he? Yes, he had mentioned it when they first met. Arthur's mind began to wander. What would it be like to be in a relationship with Alfred? He could imagine grasping the other's hand and feeling them mold together perfectly as they walked down the street to get ice cream in the middle of December, all because Alfred had insisted upon it. And his lips, too. Kissing him softly and backing away with a smile and an, 'I love you'. Relaxing on his couch and leaning into the other as he inhaled the smell of his boyfriend, perfect and comfortable and the sum of everything good in the worl-

"Mon cher?"

"Ah… no, I haven't, I suppose…"

Francis gave him a knowing smile and narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure about that? You're as red as a tomato, dear Arthur."

"I'm sure!" He said, now fully aware of his surroundings and suddenly quite angry and defensive- although, he wasn't exactly sure why. "Now, I have a meeting with my publisher to attend to! Leave me be, and I swear to god, if I find you following me, I'll rip your bloody head off, frog."

Arthur didn't wait to hear the other's reply. He was already running off and back into a cab near the edge of the park. Inside, he had to force his mind not to stray. Alfred was a friend. He was nothing more. Just a friend.

But then again, there was always that doubt that nagged at him near the back of his mind. At the moment, he chose to ignore it.

* * *

><p><strong>Hello there! I got quite a few recs this week on Tumblr, I'm so happy that you are enjoying my story. I sort of have this headcanon that Gilbert would be the casual boss that lets you mess around and come to work in hoodies, as long as you got your work done. And he's also pretty damn ambitious when it comes to something he's passionate about. As an added note, Estonia was the 'dorky roomate' from Alfred's college life. My apologies for not putting any AlfredArthur interaction in this chapter, but I swear to you, it will come in the next chapter. And here, we have the plot layed out for you! Enjoy, readers. I hope you drop by and tell me what you think. See you next chapter!**

-chibitalex


	9. Chapter 9

_'artie! :D i have some great news!'_

_Message received at 2:09 pm._

_'here! YOU'RE door was unlocked, so i'll meet you back YOU'RE apartment, kk?'_

_Message received at 2:11 pm._

That… He…

Arthur felt a slight twitch of irritation as he read Alfred's latest messages. Alfred was in his apartment? The idiot was trespassing! And to make matters worse, he didn't seem to care! He sighed. That prick surely wouldn't care, even if he got angry, now would he? In fact, he'd probably just laugh it off and tell him that he needed to chill out. The messages had been received over an hour ago, right when he was speaking with Francis at Central Park. The encounter was currently pushed to the back of his mind, and it was taking all of his might to force it back from entering his thoughts right now. Or ever, for that matter. It was bordered close to disturbing when he thought of Alfred in _that _sort of way, but at the same time, he couldn't deny that the thoughts made his heart pace quicken and his cheeks redden slightly. Damn git.

_Alfred is just a friend, _he thought to himself._ Just a friend and a neighbor_.

Yes. That sounded right. As he walked through the sliding glass doors, he allowed himself a small smile at the doorman and a curt nod to Angelique, who was propped up at the front desk with a donut and her assistant running circles around her.

The elevator ride was rather quiet, aside from his thoughts plaguing him. It honestly worried him that he even considered Alfred as a love interest. He had so many flaws, it was ridiculous. Alfred was much better suited to remain as a friend. For starters, he was hyperactive and energetic. He was childish. He was naïve. He had an infuriating hero complex. He was bothersome. He was clingy. Apparently, he was a trespasser as well. He was considerate. He was kind. He was passionate. He was ambitious. He was infectiously happy. He was silly, giddy, and wanted to spread his joy and youth with the world. Wait.

Fuck. No, this was all wrong.

The elevator let him off at the top floor with a ding and a creek. For such a nice building, you'd think that they'd be able to maintain the elevators. Arthur was just about to open his door when it swung open and revealed a smiling Alfred, holding both Hero and Crumpets in his arms.

"Hey, Artie! Get in here, I have some great news!"

Arthur sighed and flopped down his coat onto the rack. "Don't you always."

The other maintained his flawless smile as the two cats nuzzled each other. "I think they're in kitty love." Alfred grinned. Arthur's head perked up as he watched the pair of felines be released onto the floor only to bound over to the large window that held the skyscape of New York and lie down as they intertwined their tails together. Hero rolled over and pulled Crumpets onto his stomach as they laid on the wood. Seemingly content with this position, the grumpier of the two cats begrudgingly allowed himself to lay his head down onto the other's mane of fluff. Hero reminded Arthur somewhat of a lion.

"How adorable. Is this why you broke into my apartment?" He asked as he raised an eyebrow at Alfred.

"Nope! I have more news," Alfred began as he waltzed over to the couch and plopped himself down, patting the spot next to him in an invitation for Arthur to sit next to him. On the coffee table rested a plate of donuts that had been tactfully arranged to look like edible finger foods. It might had worked if it weren't for the Dunkin' Donuts bag in the trash can, which hadn't even been attempted to be pushed further down. Next to the donuts rested a still steaming mug of tea and a mug of coffee. Upon closer inspection and sip of the tea, it was too milky and weak for his taste, but at least he tried.

He certainly wasn't going to let up on this, was he? It was just like Alfred to pull out all of the stops when trying to tell something (which he expected to be nothing big) to someone.

"I see you've gone out of your way to announce your big news. What exactly is it?" Arthur asked as he took another sip of the tea. How long had Alfred steeped this, exactly? It was practically water and milk. However a gentleman always finishes what others have put in front of him, so he held his breath and took a large gulp.

Alfred was drinking his coffee with vigor and nearly _twitching _with excitement. "Okay, so basically, this chick quit her job at The Times. And she was working on a big story? I don't really know, but Gilbert wants me to pick up on where she left off. And you'll never guess what the story is on."

"McDonalds?" The Englishman asked dully.

"Nope, but nice guess. It's about the _Thorns _series. You know, that romance novel thingy?"

Arthur nearly spit his tea out onto the table.

"E-Excuse me?"

"_Thorns._ My job is pretty much to find out who Janice Mayflower is." Alfred grinned. When there was no response from Arthur, he gently nudged him with his shoulder. "Arthur? You okay, dude?"

He could nearly vomit at this very moment. It was just his luck that his neighbor and the closest thing of a friend he had would be assigned something like this. What would this mean? Alfred was going to find out. There was no doubt about it, he would eventually. There had been some close brushes with the press before, but not this close. As much as Arthur didn't want to admit it, Alfred wasn't an idiot. He was rather intelligent and persistent when he wanted to be. This was the one thing that would top off all of his problems. Perfect, just perfect. The cherry on top of a lovely heaping sundae of conflicting feelings for Alfred, trust issues, and writers block.

"Arthur?"

He snapped back into reality with a start. The other was now staring at him with a rather confused expression on his face. A bit of concern was evident as well.

"Oh. Yes, good job. I wish you luck." He muttered and stood up with the empty mug of tea and placed it in the sink, splashing some cool water over his face. And if Alfred found out… ugh. Humiliating. He could feel a migraine coming on. A strong one, that started in a secluded section of his brain and spread to everywhere in his body.

"I know, right? This is gonna be so much fun," The American smiled, picking apart a donut and chewing on it in small bites. "And in celebration, I say we go out for drinks tonight!" Arthur dried off his face and shot him a look.

"I have work to do. Writer's stuff, very busy and boring." He began, but his further excuses died in his throat when he saw the dejected look on Alfred's face.

"Come on, Artie! I want you to go out with me! It'll just be for a little while, we can chill and have some fun, and then you can come back here." He smiled hopefully. "Please?"

Arthur sighed and stared into those deep blue eyes. He didn't want to go. He definitely didn't want to go and celebrate his possible unraveling that he had worked so hard on over the past few years. But at the same time, Alfred was staring at him with such pleading eyes, full of kindness and hope.

He stared down at the sensible brown shoes he was sporting.

"I suppose we could go out for a bit," The voice that protruded from him sounded raspy and soft, but Alfred didn't appear to notice as he grabbed him from the back and spun him around in a bear hug. And he felt his scowl melt in those warm arms. Stupid, stupid Alfred. Why did he make it so hard to hate him?

xxx

The bar was deep into Harlem, but there was no shortage of crowds in the small place. Arthur wrinkled his nose almost immediately as he stepped in and smelled the condensed scent of perfume, alcohol and cologne. Disgusting. This scene was exactly why he bought his own liquor and consumed it at home. Why exactly had he agreed to come here again? He looked up and saw Alfred heading directly for the bar. He seemed to say something amusing, because the girl behind the bar laughed and smiled at him. In the split second that Alfred had turned his head, she pulled down her V-neck just a bit more and seemed to adjust her bra. Right, that was why.

The dance floor was sweaty and horrifying, so he sidestepped around the narrow area to the bar and avoided the dry-humping. Arthur slunk into the chair next to Alfred and tried to hide his discomfort in the place. By the looks from the other patrons, he didn't seem to be hiding it very well.

"Scotch. Whatever's strong. I don't really care." He said with a nod to the girl.

"Heavy drinker, I see," Alfred said with a laugh and a tip of his glass. "You sure you can hold your liquor, man? I don't really feel like carrying you home."

Arthur scowled. "Of course I can hold my liquor! Good god, Alfred, is that really what you think of me? An idiotic drunkard who relies on other people to get him home?"

"Chill. Drink your scotch, ya drunk," Alfred grinned as the glass was set in front of him. He downed it with a nary a moment's hesitation and a huff of relaxation. On second thought, perhaps alcohol was exactly what he needed to get his mind off of things after all.

"Another, miss."

The other gave a slow, long whistle. "Drunkard."

"Shut your mouth! Respect your elders!"

"Oh, so you're an elder now?"

"You are absolutely infuriating, Alfred F. Jones," Arthur growled as he downed another glass. "Another?" He nodded to the bartender.

Alfred shrugged and could barely keep himself from laughing as he watched the other down glass after glass. The guy didn't seem like much of a drinker, but then again, Angelique had said something about him being a bit of a punk back in high school. After thinking a bit about it, it suddenly didn't seem so surprising.

He glanced around the room. It was full, that was for sure. And there was probably a great chance of someone getting lucky in the corner somewhere. One head, however, stood out to him in particular.

"Francis! Hey, man! How's it hangin'?"

The Frenchman spun around and smiled as he pulled a stool up next to Alfred. "Ah, Alfred! I am doing very well! It's nice to see you here, have you brought anyone with you?" His eyes darted to Arthur, who was now focusing directly at the ice in his glass. He didn't appear to notice Francis's appearance. And if he did, he didn't appear to care. It was honestly more likely that he just hadn't noticed him all together.

Alfred draped his arm over Arthur and grinned. Arthur murmured something unintelligent and pushed the hand away from him as if it was something revolting. "Yup, I brought Artie here with me! He's a writer, too. You know him?"

"Oui," Francis affirmed with a nod. A small smirk began to work its way onto his face. This was just perfect. "We have met. In fact, I had a rather interesting conversation with him earlier today at the park."

"Oh?" He cocked his head to the side.

"We were actually speaking about how lonel-"

"Shut your mouth!" Arthur suddenly burst out. "I am not lonely! Don't tell Al this!" He paused and looked confused as his drunken mind struggled to reconstruct the sentence he had just slaughtered. "I mean, don't tell _Alfred._ Yeah, dun' tell Alfred _that_!" He seemed pleased with his outburst and nodded as he went back to downing glasses of scotch.

The two were silent for a moment before Alfred's case of giggles burst forth and he collapsed in laughter.

"Oh my god, he's so fucking drunk."

"And he's lonely," Francis tipped his glass. "You heard him, oui? Earlier, we were speaking about how he wishes someone would cuddle and kiss him and make l-"

"_Shut it, frog!"_ The drunk slurred as he collapsed on top of the bar.

Alfred had to laugh once again as he patted Arthur's head in sympathy. This guy would have one hell of a hangover tomorrow. But Francis… "He really said that?"

"Oui! I think he mentioned your name somewhere in there, as well."

Arthur actually said that? And mentioned his name? Alfred had to admit, he was taken aback by the mere notion of Arthur even saying something about him to anyone.

"I didn't say _nuthin' about Al!"_ Arthur yelled almost pathetically as he slammed down his glass to the table. He almost immediately held a look of bleary confusion and concentration. "I mean, Alfred."

Alfred stared at Arthur, then back at Francis. "Come on. You're just messing with me, aren't you, Francey-pants?" He grabbed a pen out from his pocket and scribbled on the bar napkin in front of him.

_'Did he really talk about me like that?'_

Subtly, he passed the napkin to Francis.

_'He did.'_

"Ah, you got me, friend. It was all just a joke. Right, Arthur?" Francis said with a heavy note of sarcasm that he was sure in Arthur's drunken state, wouldn't be able to pick up in the slightest.

"Damn right," He nodded and took another swig of his scotch. And that was the one sip that managed to send him tumbling onto Alfred's lap. Actually, he wouldn't have fallen onto Alfred's lap, but the floor if he had not managed to catch him.

"Well, looks like this guy is tuckered out. I think I'm gonna carry him home now, if ya' don't mind, Francis." Alfred said with a hefty sigh as he lifted Arthur up into his arms. "Thanks for the info!"

"Anytime!" Francis smiled. "And good luck."

The American nodded and parted with a wave and grin. Arthur was about to curse him out, but chose to remain silent in Alfred's arms.

xxx

"Ya' know, you're handsome."

"Uh-huh, yup, whatever you say."

Arthur had been rather… affectionate the entire time Alfred had carried him home. Not that he minded, it was a nice change from the other being his grumpy self. But the sudden change in attitude was a bit disconcerting. For the first compliments, he was blushing like crazy and wondering if what Francis had said was actually true, but after a while, he paid little attention to it. He was drunk, after all. And according to stories from his coworkers, the Frenchman was always trying to set people up with each other. But Arthur had said himself that he was lonely. And that just wouldn't do.

"I wanna kiss you."

"Okay, Artie. You do that."

He huffed. "No, I wan'… I want you to kiss me."

Alfred sighed. "No, Artie."

Arthur glared at him. "And why not?"

"Because you're drunk."

Below him, the drunk stayed silent for a moment before speaking again. "So, if I wasn' drunk, you'd kiss me?"

"Maybe," Alfred responded. This seemed to be a good enough answer for Arthur as they made their way across the lobby. Angelique took noticed and gave a sadistic giggle. The look in her eyes was clearly saturated with pity for the American, but at the same time, she seemed to enjoy his clear discomfort.

They rode up the elevator in silence, aside from Arthur's occasional hiccups. Everything was silent as Alfred carried him through the apartment. Hero and Crumpets were now sleeping on the couch together. From what he could see, they looked very comfortable together. For a brief moment, he thought that maybe he could just drop off Arthur onto his bed and make his escape back into his own apartment, but as soon as he set him down onto the comforter, a sharp tug pulled him down.

"Stay," Arthur mumbled, his eyes already closed and drifting off into sleep.

"Artie, I gotta go back to my place an-"

His eyes immediately snapped open and he growled with such ferocity that Alfred didn't dare move, for fear of having his head chopped off. "Stay or I swear to god, I will set your entire apartment on fire."

That just about did it for him. Kicking off his shoes, he made his way into the bed and settled down next to him. Arthur moved over to drape his arms around Alfred's chest and bury his head in the crook of his neck. Alfred sighed. He could already tell that Arthur was going to be pissed off when they woke up in the morning.

The Englishman had already fallen fast asleep. He let out soft snores and gentle breathing, which was all rather mesmerizing to him. Yeah, Arthur would be pissed off in the morning. Whatever. But right now, he was fast asleep and quite comfortable lying on his chest. And Alfred felt that he fit perfectly in his arms.

As Alfred drifted off, he couldn't help but think that he could definitely get used to this.

* * *

><p><strong>Hello, guys. The new chapter is here! I don't really have much to say right now. But bluh. Oh, Francis. You were just trying to help, but you don't have to make Arthur look like such a lovestruck softie! He can do that on his own. With the help of alcohol. I do love affectionate drunk!Arthur, so here's a little bit of that for you guys. Thanks for reading! If you have time, drop by and tell me what you think. Next chapter up next Sunday.<strong>

chibitalex


	10. Chapter 10

The first thing Arthur woke up to was a blinding headache. He'd had them before, those that start behind your ears and make their way around your entire brain in a matter of minutes. The second thing Arthur woke up to was warm breath tickling his ear, and large hands wrapped around his midsection. It didn't register quite who it was right away, so he froze in the man's arms. But it became all too clear who the mystery man was when Arthur noticed the glasses resting on the nightstand nearby.

"Alfred!" Arthur exploded, struggling to pry off the other's hands from him and roll off the bed. There was a mumble and a stir as the grip on him tightened and worked its way around to his upper thigh. Oh, fuck. Arthur blushed a deep red and began swatting at Alfred, but to little avail. It seemed that this fat blob just didn't want to wake up so soon. Defeated, he flopped back into the bed, and that seemed to content his still snoozing partner. At least his hands weren't traveling, Arthur thought with a small sigh.

The red glow from across the room proudly displayed that it was currently seven thirty in the morning. Seven thirty, and he still didn't remember anything from last night. Now, normally, he'd be worrying if they had shagged last night while he was drop dead drunk, but their clothes were still on. In fact, his jacket was still on as well. If in fact they had done something, Alfred had certainly gone far to cover his tracks.

Something didn't stir quite right about that, though. He and Alfred were relatively close. Or, at least, close enough to know that the photographer wouldn't take advantage of someone while they were drunk.

As he flipped over onto his side, Arthur was met with Alfred's face not even an inch away from his own. His reaction could be described with many words, but only one seemed to sum it all up- violent.

"Fuck!"

Flailing his arms, he slumped off the side of the bed and had somehow managed to swat Alfred's arm. Or leg, he hadn't really been able to tell at the time. As he lay off the side of the bed, Alfred slowly opened his eyes to stare at him. And there was a moment of silence where the two just stared into each other's eyes- Alfred's glazed over with disinterest and exhaustion, Arthur's with annoyance and anger.

"Dude, what the hell are you doing?"

_Him? _Arthur sputtered indignantly. "M-Me! You were the one who I found in my bed this morning, hugging me like I was some sort of stuffed… some sort of stuffed bear!"

"You told me to stay," Alfred said as he rubbed at his eyes.

This stopped him in his tracks. Temporarily. "Well… well, you could have just left me here. It's not like you thought I would be completely okay with you cuddling up to me when we woke up." He coughed. Though, it bothered Arthur that he had actually asked the man to stay with him. After all, he was known for being rather… ah, _frisky_, when drunk. It hadn't really gotten anywhere, seeing that as far as he knew, he was still a virgin. But the concept of him hitting on Alfred at all was completely and utterly mortifying. It made him want to crawl under his bed and never come out. Except, perhaps, to feed Crumpets.

"Yeah, well, maybe I would have left if you hadn't threatened to burn down my apartment," Alfred practically growled. "Can I go back to sleep? I have to head in to The Roost at around ten thirty."

Arthur was taken aback. Alfred seemed unusually grumpy. Most likely due to being woken up at what the younger thought to be an ungodly time, but he wouldn't let him sleep. Not until he found out what happened last night.

"Tell me what happened last night."

With a roll of his eyes, he might as well have been burning a hole into the ceiling. "We went out for drinks; you lost your shit after the first few sips. Francis came in and said that you want me to kiss you. I didn't believe him at first, but when I started carrying you home you asked me to kiss you. A whole fucking lot. Then you dragged me in your bed and told me to stay or you'd burn down my apartment. Ta da. The end. Can I go to sleep?"

Throughout Alfred's tale, Arthur had been feeling more and more lightheaded as he continued speaking. With no response from him, the other grumbled and Alfred's head hit the pillow once again. Which left Arthur in shock as he sat on his bedroom floor.

That settled it, he was never drinking again.

xxx

When he woke up, the bed was empty and the room was uncomfortably warm. His legs were tangled around the sheets, and his arms were clutching a pillow. Tightly, in fact, he was holding the pillow so tightly that it was a miracle goose feathers hadn't spilled over and surrounded the immediate area. Yes, Alfred was alone. And it took a few moments for him to figure out where he was, exactly. Not in his own bed, that was for sure. It was too neat for him to be in his own bed. As he sat up and straightened his back with a sickening crack, he glanced around the room. The floors were a dark brown wood, almost black. A rug supported the bed, which was low to the ground and a mahogany tint. The sheets that he was entangled in were light and dark grey striped.

Whoever's room this was certainly had nice taste.

What time was it? The clock across the room glowed a happy eight-fifteen. Great, eight-fifteen. At least he wasn't anywhere near late for work.

And then it hit him, all at once. All of the memories from last night, how Arthur had demanded for him to stay in the bed with him. Strangely enough, it didn't really bother him. Which was more surprising than not, seeing as how Arthur had clearly gotten up and didn't seem all that concerned with the situation at the moment. Or at least, he assumed. For all Alfred knew, Arthur could be planning his bloody demise as he sat upon the bed. The bed was rather fluffy, though. So, before reluctantly standing up, he bounced a few time as he sat.

"Artie? You here?" Alfred asked lightly as he pressed the door open.

"Where else would I be?"

The voice startled him, and it took him a moment before he could figure out that the voice was coming from the kitchen area. Lo and behold stood Arthur, leaning against the counter with a steaming mug of liquid. It appeared that he had changed into pinstripe, button down pajamas and warm slippers as well. Arthur looked fine, aside from the dark bags under his eyes.

"Stop staring at me, git." He muttered and turned his eyes away from Alfred.

Oh. Was he staring? It hadn't really crossed his mind that glancing at someone for however long counted as staring.

Clearing his throat, Alfred moved a few steps into the kitchen and rested his back against the granite countertop. "We need to talk. About last night."

If he hadn't been paying attention, he may have missed the faint look of worry that passed through the other's expression as he stood. But then again, Alfred was a photographer. It was his job to notice details and take pictures of them, whether they are mental or visual.

"Of course. What would you like you speak about, Alfred?"

"What Francis said. He mentioned something about you. And, uh," Damn, this was awkward. Meanwhile, Arthur's expression looked something like a deer caught in headlights. "Being attracted to me?" He grinned sheepishly. Of course, the tension in the air wasn't resolved by a smile, but it couldn't hurt Alfred to try. "I-I mean, I know I'm sexy, but damn, Artie." Alfred chuckled.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Arthur said indignantly and brought his mug closer to his lips to hide the worrisome expression he carried.

"Yeah, you do. I told you about it earlier today. Remember?" The American replied. After a short pause, he added, "Oh, and sorry for being so grumpy this morning."

"It's fine," Arthur began. "I suppose I don't have much of a choice. I have spoken with Francis about you, yes. But I never said that I was… ah, attracted to you…" He murmured and avoided contact with Alfred's eyes as if they were some form of poison. Beautiful, blue poison.

"Yeah, but you did talk to him about me. What did you say?" Alfred pouted and crossed his arms.

"Just that you were my new neighbor, and I was fond of you. Nothing more, nothing less."

It seemed that he wasn't going to get much information out of Arthur. At least on that charge. Well, whatever. That still didn't explain the other things he said. Such as asking for Alfred to kiss him and cuddling up to him in bed. The American's cheeks tinted a slight pink, but he brushed the butterflies in his stomach off and refixed his gaze to the man in front of him.

"Well, what about after we left the bar? Y'know, you asking me to kiss you. What was that?"

That was about the point when Arthur's calm façade that he had maintaining throughout the entire interrogation crashed and burned as it fell into freezing water.

"I-I…" Arthur sputtered. "I have nothing to say about that…" His eyes darted across the room, and for a split moment, met Alfred's but immediately looked away.

"Yeah? You sure you don't have a little crush on me?" Alfred chuckled awkwardly. Surprisingly, instead of defiant denial, only silence filled the room. "Artie? You don't actually have a crush on me, do you?"

Arthur's head bobbed up in an almost comical way. "What? Of course I don't! I-I just didn't answer because I assumed you were joking, is all!" He twiddled his thumbs near the bottom of his shirt. The tea had been drained, and there was absolutely nothing to keep him from covering his face now.

Stepping forward, Alfred placed both of his hands on the side of Arthur's head, forcing him to look up and stare into his eyes. Right at this moment in time, there was nothing separating the two of their gazes. No walls.

"Don't lie to me. Just don't. Can you say that you don't have a crush on me to my face, not to the floor." Alfred asked, his eyes dark and serious.

Arthur closed his eyes.

_"Don't look at me like that, Alfred. Please, don't. Just go and joke about how drunk I got and forget this entire thing ever happened. For the love of god, don't focus your gaze like that. I've never seen you this serious before. It's worrying me." _Arthur thought in the darkness.

As he opened his eyes once more, the American's gaze stilled hadn't wavered. It seemed that he truly wanted an answer.

"I… I don't have a bloody crush on you…"

_"What a coward. Do you really have that much pride? Are you ashamed that you fell for him so quickly, Arthur? That's right, maybe if you say it enough, it'll go away," _A nagging voice near the back of his brain reminded him.

Alfred huffed. "You weren't looking at me."

Taking a deep breath, he looked back up into the American's eyes. "I don't have a crush on you, you stupid twat."

With a sad smile, Alfred released his hands and turned around. "See? Wasn't so hard. I've got to leave for work."

With his heart still pounding, Arthur's hand managed to grab the back of the other's shirt. "It's only eight-thirty."

"Yeah, well. Whatever, I just have to get to work," He muttered and grabbed the scarf he had dropped on the way inside last night as he tried to force himself out the door.

"Alfred F. Jones, what are you doing? Why are you getting so upset all of the sudden?" Arthur asked as he grabbed at the departing man's jacket.

After a moment, there was no resistance on the jacket and Alfred's shoulders slumped as he sighed.

"I was just kinda hoping that you did have a crush on me, you know? That's all," He chuckled. "I dunno. Since I've moved here, we're gotten pretty close. I never really thought of you in much of a romantic way until around last night, when Francis pointed it out. But after that, you were pretty much all I could think about. I stayed up until around three just laying with you on my chest and thinking about how great it could be if we actually were dating. That's all. Okay?"

"A-Alfred… you…"

Arthur trailed off in shock. Alfred actually did want to be in a relationship with him? Stubborn, grumpy, Arthur Kirkland? No, that wasn't possible… it just didn't add up.

"I know. So, anyways, I'm goin' to head out now. I'll come over later or something. Just do me a favour and pretend like I never said that if it disturbs you or something," Alfred said as he tightened the scarf around his neck.

The Englishman said nothing at first. The gears in his mind spun and worked their way into a smoke before he could register what had just happened. Alfred wasn't going to work yet. Definitely not.

"Alfred? Wait. Come back inside," Arthur ordered softly. When he didn't turn around, he added a soft please to the end of his request. And sure enough, Alfred came to a stop.

Inside the apartment, the two placed themselves on opposite sides of the sofa. For the time being, Alfred wasn't making much eye contact. And for the few times he did, his glance only stayed for about a moment.

"I lied. I do like you. A… ehm, quite a lot, actually," Arthur blurted out.

Alfred's head darted up in surprise. A quick glance of his lips, and anyone could tell that he was fighting a hopeful smile from bubbling up and emerging from the depths.

"Really? You mean it?" He asked, allowing himself to move a bit closer to Arthur.

"Of course, you idiot! Why would I lie about that?" Arthur said with a cross of his legs and arms.

The moment he turned his head to face Alfred, his scowl melted at the sight of his grin and bright blue eyes.

"I dunno, I guess I'm just… I dunno. I'm just really happy, okay?" The other grinned and laughed with utter glee, leaning over to embrace the Englishman in a warm hug.

Arthur began to push away, but his protests died on the tip of his tongue quickly and cleanly. There was no reason to push, was there? Right now, Alfred had him in his arms. That was really all he needed for the time being. With a gentle clearing of his throat his new lover backed off with an unwavering smile.

"Sorry 'bout that."

"No, no. It's…" Arthur paused. "It was nice. I liked it." He said with a slight nod. Alfred certainly seemed happy now. Stupid git, one person shouldn't be able to make you that happy. But then again, earlier he wasn't exactly… content. At all. And he had caused it. "I greatly apologise for lying to you. About not having a crush on you."

The other waved off his apology with a flip of his hand. "Nah, I'd have done the same thing if I were you. I mean, a good majority of people fear rejection by the people they like."

"It's just that you looked so unhappy… and I'm sorry for th-"

Alfred silenced his explanation with a finger to his lips.

"It's cool. We're together, aren't we?"

"I suppose so. But I wish you'd stop wiping my apologies off as if they're nothing," Arthur said with a dead tone and a slight glare.

With a laugh, the American raised his right hand and prompted Arthur to do the same. "Now, repeat after me. I will not lie in this relationship."

"I will not lie in this relationship," Arthur parroted.

Well, at least Alfred seemed satisfied. He slunk into the couch with a smug grin. "There. We're good."

The Englishman let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. "Alright. I promise to be honest."

Propping himself up and leaning in closer to Arthur, Alfred smiled. "And so do I." And with those words, he placed a feather light, ghost of a kiss onto the other's lips. It could just barely qualify as a kiss. But it communicated their promise and emotions so well into just a simple brush.

Leaning back, Alfred bit his lip. "Was that okay?"

As Arthur replied, he brought his hand up to his mouth, the spot where Alfred's lips had brushed. "Perfect."

* * *

><p><strong>Hello readers. No update last week due to a bit of a personal issues that kept me from writing, so I apologise for that. Buuut. There you go, they're dating now. However, this is definitely not the end of this tale. We're not even close to finished. I expect this to be somewhere around twenty chapters, possibly even edging around twenty-five. Happy chapter ten, everyone. So I'm out of school for the summer which means, more updates. Longer updates. And my last announcement is that I am going away from tomorrow up until around next Sunday, so I don't THINK I'll be able to update until next week. Never fear, once I come back, I'll post the chapter on Tuesday or so. Thank you for reading and reviewing. See you soon.<strong>

chibitalex


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